


With Agni on Our Side

by fanficreader5



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: (and later Gaang), (enter OCs), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward sprinkling of bad jokes, But he's gonna learn more about cooking than keeping his mouth shut, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ozai just wants to keep his son out of the way but in sight, Ozai's A+ Parenting, Zuko Joins The Gaang Early (Avatar), Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zuko just wants to prove he's learnt to be humble, no beta we die like men, the author doesn't sleep enough and this is what her mind finds funny at 2am, who doesn't get that there might be people who begrudgingly care about him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficreader5/pseuds/fanficreader5
Summary: After the fateful Agni Kai, instead of sending him off on a ship, Fire Lord Ozai decided to remove his son's title and relegate him to being part of the Palace staff.Zuko's pretty sure he's going to go back to being Crown Prince any day now.Just a few more days.And then the Avatar and his companions are captured.
Relationships: The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), zuko & palace staff
Comments: 192
Kudos: 594





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been itching to write a wholesome 'Zuko is force fed friendship and parenting and generally gets a shot at being happy' fic. 
> 
> The food in this AU is pan-Asian because I have too much fun looking up random dishes from all over Asia and putting them in. 
> 
> Teen rating given for swearing. Title adapted from 'With God on Our Side' by Bob Dylan.

_If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals._

-J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

* * *

This was about the most boring job Yuna had ever had.

Being nineteen going on twenty, Yuna had spent most of her teenage years studying the herbal properties of various teas and leaves, with the intention of becoming a healer. Bender or no bender, she knew her stuff and probably would have made a competent medic, but then, y’know, life got in the way.

And now here she was, working in the palace staff for the foreseeable future. Current responsibility: looking after the freshly injured, delirious prince _who just wouldn’t stay in bed_.

The boy gave another start, getting up out of bed with a moan.

Yuna barely looked up before grabbing his arm and pulling him back down.

“Just stay, will you? Or else I’ll need to ask the healer to come give you the good stuff again.”

“Mmm fine,” he murmured before closing his eyes again.

Yuna let out a long breath and went back to mixing more of the burn cream.

Things Yuna knew about the Crown Prince:

  1. He was now an ex-Prince
  2. His father had burned half his face off (Everyone knew that. It was all the palace staff could talk about.)
  3. He was apparently meant to become part of the palace staff as some sort of odd-job man until his father decided he could go back to being a Prince again?
  4. The kid was thirteen and therefore going to be _useless_ as an odd-job man.
  5. Sometimes the kid looked deep asleep.
  6. This could be deceptive.
  7. The kid did _not_ like being touched unexpectedly.



Yuna reeled back as the boy bit her hand.

“Ow, ow, fuck, kid. What was that!”

The prince (Ex. Ex-prince) sleepily spat a couple of time. “’S tastes grim...”

“Yeah, no shit, that’s burn cream,” Yuna went on brusquely. “I’m going to put some on and then bandage again. You think we can manage this with less teeth this time?”

Zuko nodded. “Sorry.”

The kid stayed absolutely still. It was a bit creepy, really, how little sound he made even though Yuna knew for a fact this cream stung like a bitch when applied on a wound as fresh as this.

Then she heard it. The sound of grinding teeth.

She balled up a cloth and gave it to Zuko.

“Bite down on this.”

Zuko made a face as he took it in his mouth.

Then the cloth _caught fire._

“Kid, seriously!” yelped Yuna. She put out the flames and gave up on giving him something to bite down on. “How did you even do that?”

Yuna had only seen people breathe fire at festival shows, not in your average, everyday benders. 

“’Don’t know,” he said through gritted teeth. “No control.”

“Huh, well, don’t. I don’t want to apply this cream to my hands too.”

After Yuna had finished bandaging the wound, she brought over a calming tea with just a drop of cactus juice for pain relief.

Zuko drank it without complaint.

“You can go now,” he said.

“If only,” muttered Yuna.

“What?”

“I said ‘go to sleep, Zuko.’”

Zuko leaned back. A wide, easy grin spread across his face as the cactus juice took hold.

“You know-you know you have soft hands,” he drawled, sinking further onto the bed. “Like a-a turtleduck’s back. No, like Mom. No wait, like-like a soft squishy sabre-toothed moose lion cub. No-like a...”

His eyes drifted close. Yuna let out a sigh and picked up her book. Babysitting, huh?

**

Zuko sat in bed and squinted at the scroll on his lap. The words were blurry, his right eye tired from straining against the low light of the fireplace. Zuko didn't know what time it was but it must have been at least late in the evening. He was consumed with the restlessness that came from being tired but not sleepy. He blinked and tried to pick up from where he’d stopped reading.

“We heard about what you did,” said Yuna, not looking up from the book on her lap. This one was about the history of the Water Tribe.

Zuko clenched his fist. “I was stupid.”

“When things don’t work out, we call ourselves stupid,” said Yuna, then mumbled something to herself about “misplaced loyalties”.

Zuko knew what she meant. Instead of being loyal to the Fire Lord and his Generals, he had instead looked to the part of him that said what was happening was _wrong_ , when he could never know more about what was best for the nation than his father.

“Did my father come to see me?” asked Zuko.

“He, uh, enquires after your health,” said Yuna in a casual voice that felt a little empty somehow.

“Oh.”

This was good. He didn’t know what he could possibly say to his father if he saw him.

Yuna shut her book with a thump.

“Kid, have you ever played Earth Kingdom Checkers?”

“No,” Zuko said, far too quickly.

Yuna looked at him. “You sure?”

Zuko checked no one was in the corridor outside.

“I’ve played with Uncle, but it doesn’t count. I think he lets me win.”

“Maybe you’re good at it. Wait here, I’ll go get it.”

Yuna left Zuko to sweat profusely. What if Father walked in? What if he saw his son engaged with wasteful pastimes for empty minds and realized he’d never be fit to return to his former position? Oh Agni, he’d be so angry, and maybe even Yuna would get in trouble, and she wasn’t bad really, a bit grumpy, but she didn’t deserve to lose her job or die-

Yuna appeared again.

“I don’t know how to play! I was just kidding, we should put that away,” babbled Zuko.

“Are you not allowed to play?” Yuna shut the door. “Or are you just scared of losing?”

“I’d not lose,” growled Zuko. “But games are stupid, and I don’t want to play.”

“Your choice,” Yuna shrugged. “But it’s well into the night and the whole palace is asleep. No one will interrupt us if we play a couple of rounds.” She put the board down on the table and got out the bag of marbles. “So, say you were to play, what color would you be?”

“Red.” The word slipped out without a moment’s thought.

Yuna grinned. “You’re so predictable.”

She set herself up with blue and they played.

Zuko lost. Angry at the obvious mistakes he’d made, and maybe slightly enjoying playing with someone who didn’t accompany most moves with obscure proverbs, he demanded a rematch. He lost again.

The third match he won. Yuna yawned.

“You should sleep. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will be, kid.”

“I’m tired. I think I’ll sleep now.”

Yuna gave him a look that told him he hadn’t improved in lying in the last five minutes.

Regardless, he lay back down, closed his eyes, and willed the nightmares to not come.

**

Chief of staff Mirono felt torn between shouting and walking away.

Zuko had been asking him for a week, pretty much since he became conscious and coherent, to have a job to do. Compared to the rest of his staff, he was practically falling over himself to prove he could be useful.

But that didn’t make it less weird to give the ex-prince orders.

And then Azula asked for Zuko to bring her lunch.

Weird power move, but then again, all the royals were a little crazy.

What Mirono was not prepared for was Zuko’s brand of crazy.

“What? Azula wants me to bring her lunch?” Zuko tried to scowl but gave up.

Mirono shrugged, “That’s her order, Your-uh Zuko.”

Zuko looked down at his hands and mumbled something.

“What was that?”

“It’s embarrassing,” he bit out.

Well, Mirono had nothing to say to that. Nothing he could say out loud. Seeing the boy squirming in this predicament, he said gently, “I can say you’re still ill.”

The boy jerked up, “No, I’m not weak!” He got out of bed. “I’ll go.”

Mirono nodded. “Just take it up and be sure to bow a lot. Royals love bowing.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that last bit. Spirits, it was awkward talking to ex-royalty. Still, this kid was one of them now, and the less fuss he made, the easier this would be for all of them.

Zuko was staring at him. “Uhh, I’ll bear that in mind.”

Zuko went down wordlessly and came back up with the tray. Yuna followed him. Probably not the best introduction to palace staff etiquette and general subservience, but the girl was smart and would keep Zuko out of trouble.

Mirono hurried to the Fire Lord’s chamber, a new chambermaid had joined the palace staff recently and he needed to check the state of the room. As he fished for the key, he saw Zuko practicing awkward, grumpy bows near the door of his sister’s room. Mirono rolled his eyes and hurried inside.

**

“My tea is too hot,” Azula said, holding out her teacup.

Zuko walked over awkwardly. He paused, staring at his sister, then proceeded to blow on her tea.

Azula jerked her hand back. “Ew. What in Agni’s name are you doing, Zuzu?”

Zuko glared and folded his arms. “You said your tea was too hot, what did you want me to do? Why can’t you blow on it yourself?”

“I wanted you to get me a new cup, at the right temperature this time!” growled Azula, “Not to _blow_ on my _tea_. Grim!”

Okay, yes, he could see how what he did was a bit weird. But he was still new to all of this and he never knew royals could be so, well, _fussy_.

Zuko forced himself into a bow and took the tea away. Outside the door, he caught Yuna snickering.

“You _blew_ on her tea? I’m surprised she didn’t throw it at you.”

“She’s an idiot, I don’t get why she couldn’t just wait a while for it to cool.”

The mirth left her eyes as she pulled Zuko into a small waiting room further along the corridor.

“Look, kid, I know you used to be the one sitting in a room speaking your mind, but what’s happened has happened. You have to learn to hold your tongue. You can’t call the Crown Princess that.”

Zuko scowled. He knew full well he needed to _learn humility_. That was exactly why he was here, holding a cup of tea that his sister had ordered to re-make, but cooler this time.

It had been two weeks since the Agni Kai. Two weeks since he’d stupidly decided to not fight, to instead beg for his life. Two weeks and he was still wearing a bandage and shouting at the hospital staff doctor every time she insisted he needed more rest.

Why couldn’t she see that he needed to prove himself humble? The faster he could prove himself humble and loyal and obedient, the faster he could leave and go back to being, well, _not_ humble and obedient and generally not needing to do his stupid little sister’s bidding.

Aaand this was why he was probably not going to get back in favour of his father anytime soon.

Zuko looked down at the tea in his hand, not wanting to talk about his apparent failure to learn humility.

"Excuse me, I must go make another cup of tea."

Yuna looked at him with those eyes that said _you're an idiot_.

"How about this? You walk in with this cup, now that it's cooled, and then give it to her saying it's a cooler cup."

Zuko did just that. It worked.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it, Zuzu,” Azula smiled that smile that made an uncomfortable pit grow in his stomach. “Now leave me alone, I have to prepare for a politics and diplomacy lesson.”

Zuko stilled. “You’re getting politics and diplomacy lessons? That doesn’t start until you’re fourteen.”

 _Politics and diplomacy_ was code for _war tactics and nation expansion._ Zuko had always been a little scared of what he might learn in those tuitions, but he’d conveniently messed up and lost his title before he’d managed to find out. But to learn his sister would be learning this, and three years early at that, well, that stung. A little.

“Father feels I need to learn this sooner rather than later. Now that I’m, you know, the heir and all.” Azula said carefully, examining her nails. “It’ll probably be boring.”

Zuko huffed. “Yeah, probably.”

He bowed and left. 

**

Zuko glared at his plate, trying to ignore the stares. It was only his second day since he had the all clear from the house doctor to start coming down to the mess halls for meals. After three weeks of lukewarm kal-guksu, (“good for your chi,” Uncle had said when he came to see him) Zuko jumped at the opportunity to have something else.

The social side was a little lacking though.

The cooks seemed to stare intently at the food as they dished out curry and rice onto his plate. The other staff gave him a clear berth, like he’d start breathing fire on them or something if they even looked at him.

How do you sit and eat with people you used to order about?

The whole situation was utterly humiliating.

Not that he didn’t deserve that.

Yuna came over as she had the day before too. She banged her tray down and proceeded to noisily pour herself some water. People were starting to look away, aware that this loud show was to politely tell them to fuck off.

“Oi, are you going to eat your dessert?” she drawled.

Zuko grabbed his dessert and shovelled it into his mouth.

Yuna shrugged. “Just checking if yesterday’s lack of appetite was a one-time thing or if I’ve got myself a goldmine of extra food.”

Zuko ignored her, focussing on the sweetness of the strawberry daifuku.

“These are the best, honestly,” he said, “I could be dying and as long as I got one of these, I’d go in peace.”

Yuna looked at him and pushed her dessert towards him.

Zuko hesitated. “We were never allowed more than two. Eating too much makes you fat and lazy.”

“Eating too much makes you enjoy life,” said Yuna casually. “Your uncle gets it. That’s probably why he’s so cheery all the time.”

Zuko stared at her. With the merest hesitation, he took a daifuku from Yuna’s plate. If he was going to die an honor-less ex-Prince, he might as well live a little.

“Serious question, you were royalty and still didn’t just eat whatever you felt like whenever you felt like it?” Yuna delicately inspected a sorry-looking piece of meat before shrugging and popping it in her mouth.

"Just because you can do whatever you want doesn't mean you should," said Zuko, circling back to the main course of the meal now that he had finished dessert. Pig-chicken Xacuti, one of his favourites.

Yuna was giving him the raised eyebrows again like he'd said something stupid or confusing.

"What?"

Yuna looked down at her plate. "Nothing, just surprised." Zuko continued to stare. "But, heh, you know me, easily surprised. Eat your food."

Zuko would have probed further but at that moment, one of the tall, burly guards with the permanent five o'clock shadow came over and put his dessert dish down on his table.

"Huh?"

"Take it, I don't like them."

"What, are you crazy! How can anyone not like daifuku?" Zuko gesticulated wildly at him.

He just shrugged and walked away.

Things just got weirder as three more people came by Zuko's table, muttering about how they didn't like the dessert and dumped it in front of him. What if they were poisoned? What if him being there pissed these people off so much they decided to just end him? Agni, that would make a lot of sense-if only he'd had the common sense to not talk so _loudly_ about how he’d be happy to die eating daifuku then he wouldn't be fielding off likely-tampered sweet balls of deliciousness from all sides.

With a look of panic, Zuko leaned over and whispered, "Are they poisoned? You'd tell me if they were poisoned, right?"

Yuna rolled her eyes. "Spirits, royal blood doesn't guarantee brains, huh? Just eat the damn daifuku, Zuko."

"I'm not stupid! I'm just prepared for any attacks that might come!" yelled Zuko.

Yuna started rubbing her temples.

"Well, now everyone in the mess hall knows not to poison you. Now eat, dipshit."

Zuko glared at the young woman as best as he could with his functional eye and tuckered down to make his way through his hoard of treats.


	2. Chapter 2

Once the palace medic had determined him well enough, Zuko moved from the spare room to the servants’ quarters. They were okay, he guessed. They’d do until he could get back to his old bedroom. The rooms were simple, with three beds in a row and a dresser and wardrobe each. The mattress was hard, and the blankets were scratchy, but the walls surrounding the two occupied beds were decorated with pictures and posters.

Zuko sat down on his bed and stared at the opposite wall. Some of the paintings looked awful.

“I’m guessing the room is not to His Highness’s standards,” Zuko glanced at the man at the door. A short, portly man with a gruff manner, he worked on the palace accounts. “You like the pictures?”

“That painting is awful,” said Zuko, pointing at the splashes of brown and yellow on the page.

“Thanks, I’ll let my kid know,” said the man.

“Sorry,” said Zuko. “It’s, er, very nice for a toddler.”

“He was six when he drew it. Never much talent in art, but the boy does like to try” said Shota. He bowed a strange bow in Zuko’s direction. Too shallow for royalty, yet too deep for it to be casual. “Shota.”

Zuko bowed back, a similar depth because why not? Nothing made sense these days. “Zuko.”

Shota laughed. “I know.”

“When’s lights out?” asked Zuko.

Shota quirked a brow. “When we want, I guess?”

“Yeah, I knew that. I was just checking,” Zuko said hastily.

He turned back to his bed and busied himself with straightening the covers.

“Is there a time we have to be up by?”

“You’ll know soon enough,” grinned Shota.

The next day, Zuko woke to the radiating warmth of his inner fire coming to life. Seconds later, a cacophony of rooster-pigs started to oink-crow. Zuko groaned and threw his face back into his pillow.

“Told you,” said Shota. He sat up and proceeded to crack his back. Loudly.

“Seriously, you’ll break something!” yelled Zuko,

Ninko, the last occupant of the room and the one with the centre bed rolled away from Zuko’s yelling and mumbled, “He does this every morning. You get used to it.”

Zuko threw off the covers in a huff. They were _seriously_ itchy and too warm. He stomped over to his wardrobe and looked at his choice.

Hmm, plain dark red tunic with beige trousers or other plain dark red tunics with black trousers?

God, peasants had the worst dress sense.

When he was back in favour of Fath-Fire Lord Ozai, he was going to relax the dress code and let people wear some other colours outside of red. Not that he didn’t love red, of course, red was the colour of power, of the nation-

He was dragged out of his thoughts by Ninko brushing past him to the window.

“Please, for the love of Agni, stop! We know it’s morning, we know!” he shouted dramatically at the rooster-pigs, who merely squawked at him before returning to crowing.

With exaggerated theatrics, the boy slammed the window shut and fell onto Zuko’s bed. “Every night, I consider the ethics of becoming a vegetarian, and every morning they make me decide against it.”

Zuko didn’t know what to say. He left with his clothes before the silence could grow too awkward.

**

The days slowly fell into a routine. Zuko would rise with the rooster-pigs, join the staff for breakfast and then take on whatever task was assigned to him for the day. Most of these had either been watching other staff work, or, when he insisted he needed to do _something_ , being given busy work such as washing dishes before someone came and washed them again.

Today was one of those days.

Head chef Jiro came over.

“Kid, you’re useless at dishes. I don’t know how someone can be useless at dishes, but you are. So today you’re chopping vegetables for me.”

“I’m not useless at dishes, they-they dry too quickly!”

“Now far be it for me to call myself a scientist, but I’m just hypothesizing here: could it have anything to do with that unchecked rage of yours coming out of your hands as heat?”

“I-I-That’s not what’s going on, the water just dries too quickly-”

“You burnt a sponge yesterday.”

“That was already like that!” lied Zuko.

Jiro just raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay, I’ll chop vegetables.”

Jiro went to check on the naan rising gently in the tandoor as Zuko fetched a knife and chopping board.

“I need the carrots first cut to matchsticks and then to the size of a pea.”

“Which pea?”

Jiro stared at him.

“What? Peas come in all shapes and sizes. Some are this big,” said Zuko, putting his fingers together, “And whoppers can be up to this big!” he said, widening his fingers a fraction.

Jiro resisted the urge to drag his hands down his face and call in as a sick day. They had too much to do to be handling a boy who’d never set foot in a kitchen before last month. Instead, he fetched a pea.

“This. This is your reference pea. Cut to this size. Do not lose it or there will be consequences,” he said, jokingly, but watching the colour drain from the boy’s face took the fun out of it. More gently, he said, “Can you take it from here?”

Zuko nodded and bowed low. The kid bowed at _everything_. It was a little unnerving.

“Thank you for this opportunity. I will not let you down,” the kid said.

“I’m sure you won’t,” Jiro said with more tenderness than he’d initially intended. “And kid, if you have any questions, ask someone else.”

Zuko bowed again and said sincerely, “Yes, sir.”

Jiro left before he started to feel bad.

**

The bandages came off about a month after The Incident.

No one mentioned anything but Zuko could tell people looked away faster.

Well, almost no one.

“You look like shit,” said Yuna.

“Thanks.”

“It’s so red and puffy, you need more burn cream?”

“I’ve been told to air it and leave it alone for now.”

Yuna shrugged and continued to deal cards. Zuko sat off to the side and watched, trying to ignore the tingling along the side of his face.

“Would you like to join us, Your-Zuko?” asked the Sous-chef, Kyong.

Zuko was about to decline again when Yuna butted in, “Nah, he knows he’ll lose.”

“I won’t lose!”

“We’re playing Cheat, you will _definitely_ lose.”

Zuko stalked over and sat down. “Please can I have a hand of cards.”

Yuna grinned and dealt him seven cards.

They played. Zuko lost.

“If you don’t mind me saying, try to look a little less like you’re lying,” said Kyong.

“How can you tell?”

“You stare behind my ear and recite your cards mechanically whenever you try to cheat. Either that or you look shifty and panicked.”

Zuko threw down his hand. “Well, card games are for people with nothing better to do or think about.”

Kyong stiffened. Zuko regretted his words.

“Well, I’ve got nothing better to do and the tumbleweed that lives in my brain rent free is quite happy there, thank you very much,” said Yuna casually. “Quit throwing a tantrum and deal the next hand.”

Zuko grumbled and dealt the next hand.

This round, Zuko didn’t try to cheat, so Zuko didn’t lose.

**

It was Itachi’s birthday. All in all, it was turning out to be a good day. A tourist had tried sneaking in to the palace, which had allowed Itachi to show off his scary face, which was always fun. The menu had been masala dosa for lunch, his favourite. And now Head Chef Jiro was here with his cake.

The lights were dimmed, and everybody sang. Itachi tried his best to not look awkward for the thirty seconds of discomfort the song always caused.

Then he stilled. As was tradition, he had brought his family to his birthday party. In the dim light of the candles, he could see his baby, his little girl, staring at ex-prince Zuko. The boy was staring back.

As much as the kid came off as mostly harmless, you never knew with royals. You only had to look at him to know what damage they could cause.

“Blow out the candles, Itachi,” whispered his wife from his side.

Itachi blew and ignored the clapping as he strained his eyes to see where little Kaida was now. He absentmindedly cut the cake.

The sconces were returned to full brightness and Itachi looked out to see the baby now in Zuko’s arms. He was about to go over to intervene when he saw Kaida was laughing. Zuko was jiggling her up and down with a haphazard rhythm.

Then the baby swung her arm and full on smacked the burn.

Rage flashed across the prince’s face. Itachi started moving around other staff members to grab his child before the young man burnt her. As he got near though, he saw the prince no longer looked angry. He had gone back to jiggling her again with one arm and holding her arm away with the other.

“Thuko!” she said, giggling.

“No, Zuko. With a zee.”

“Thuko Thuko!”

The kid gave an exaggerated sigh.

“What’s your name then?” He prodded her in the belly.

“Kai-dah!”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you. But you also smell bad, just so you know.” Zuko shifted arms and continued to bounce her. Sakura, his wife, came up to him, gesturing towards their child, but Itachi stopped her.

“I think… I think he’s entertaining her?”

They watched as the baby gave a little burp in the boy’s arms.

“Your dad turned thirty-two today, you know that? Of course you don’t. You don’t know anything. I bet if I tell a joke, you’ll laugh.”

“Thuko!” was Kaida’s reply.

“What kind of tea always makes you feel better about the world? Positivitea.” Zuko deadpanned. Kaida stared at him. Zuko sighed and tickled her. “There, see, you found it funny.”

Itachi went over.

“Are you two having fun?”

“She smells uh, funny.” Zuko handed Kaida over to Itachi. He picked her up and sniffed her diaper.

“Yeah, I’ll say.” Hoisting her up, he said, “You always cry with a fully diaper, missy. How come not right now?”

As if on cue, Kaida started bawling.

“I’m, er, going to go now,” said Zuko, sidling away. “But you know, afterwards, if you need someone to look after her for the rest of the evening, I can, you know, whatever.” With that, he walked off towards the cake.

Itachi watched him go and tried not to grin.

**

Zuko bustled into his room after tidying up the evening meal, looking forward to taking off his tunic. Somehow, he never managed to do the dishes without ending up with half the soapy water down his front.

Uncle Iroh was sitting on his bed.

“Prince Zuko, how are you?”

Zuko stood on the spot uncertainly before dropping into a long, low bow. Royals loved bowing.

He felt hands at his shoulders pulling him up and then into a hug. Zuko let his hands hang down by his side and willed himself to not give in to the gesture.

“Nephew, it’s me, it’s your uncle,” he whispered. “You don’t need to bow like that to me.”

“Royals love bowing,” was all Zuko could manage to choke out.

Uncle let go and laughed. “I see our staff are letting you in on trade secrets.”

Zuko looked at his hands. This was the first time any of his family had come to see his new room. He felt embarrassed of the bare walls and scratchy blanket.

“I see you share the room with Shota,” said Uncle.

“You know Shota?”

“Yes, I’ve visited his family home in Fire Fountain City. His wife makes excellent dim sum.”

“What’s his son called?”

“Yao, I believe. Though he was only a baby when I saw him.”

“They’re his paintings,” said Zuko, pointing towards the colourful splotches above the head of Shota’s bed.

“They must be old,” said Iroh, squinting.

“They’re from his visit home two weeks ago.”

“Splendid use of colour. Very… abstract,” said Iroh, hurriedly. “Nephew, would you like some tea?”

“No, I never want tea,” said Zuko. Seeing the crestfallen look on his uncle’s face, he said, “But we could play Earth Kingdom Checkers if you want?”

Uncle’s face lit up. “An excellent idea!”

Zuko went into the mess hall to the corner where the board games and cards were stored. He got the same set with which he’d played Yuna and returned to the room.

“I’ve practiced a bit while I was ill,” he said. “You don’t have to let me win.”

Uncle Iroh smiled. They played. Zuko lost.

“You know, this situation might not be so bad,” Uncle said casually, as he placed the marbles for another round.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Zuko bit out.

“I only mean that adversity often brings out the best in us.”

Zuko glared. “I live here, in this stupid room, with a drama queen and a man who cracks his back every morning, I can barely see out of my left eye, the staff think I’m an idiot because I don’t know how to iron clothes, and I smell like dirty dishes every evening. How is this bringing out the best in me?”

Uncle Iroh put up his hands in a placating gesture. “I take it back. Adversity is the worst. Shall we play?”

They played. Zuko lost but it was a close game.

**

Head chef Jiro was placing the last pressed flower, his tweezers hovering delicately over the plate, when he was pulled out of his reverie by a young, angry, shouty ex-prince. The bandages had come off and his face was about as angry red as his scar.

“Boy have you never learnt to knock!” yelled Jiro. His flower had fallen right the in sauce.

“They keep laughing! I don’t understand what I said that was so funny!” He stopped and sniffed. “Maybe I’m hungry?”

Jiro rolled his eyes and shoved a plate of buns in his direction.

“I wondered when you’d work out the source of extra food. No kid can get by on just the staff meals.” He went back to slowly peeling off another lilac with his tweezers.

“They’re a bit stale,” he said, as he continued to gobble down the food as if it was going to disappear.

“I’m sorry, your _Highness_ , this is just what us poor folk eat.” Jiro growled, focussing on drawing stripes across the plate with the sweet soy sauce. He felt the ex-Prince’s glare.

“I’m just saying!”

“They’re leftovers from yesterday’s meeting with dignitaries.”

Zuko slowed down from gobbling to munching. “When I’m back to being a Prince, I’ll make sure the staff get fresh pastries and dim sum at least once a week.” he said, thoughtfully.

Jiro hmmed.

“Say hypothetically, someone was to say _it’s ok I don’t have a good partner, but I do have a good hand,_ why would that be funny? _”_

Jiro’s hand slipped as he started to laugh. Fuck. The boy was studiously not looking his way.

“I knew you’d laugh too!”

“Boy, what made you say this?”

“We were playing Bridge and I was paired with Itachi and he’s _useless._ But I had three aces and a king so I was pretty sure I’d be fine, but after I said it everyone was laughing and Itachi kept _grinning_ at me and asking why he wasn’t a good partner, and I don’t get it! And no one will explain _anything_ to me!”

“Kid, I don’t think I’m the best person to explain this to you,” said Jiro. “Go ask your uncle.”

“I did! He just told me some nonsense about how the flower blooms when it’s time and when the petals have opened, they don’t close again.” Zuko huffed and sat down on a stepladder, putting his face in his hands. “I wish people would stop laughing at me.”

Jiro looked at the plate. The sauce was smudged and the streaks of soy sauce were messy. He’d need to do it again anyway. He gently pressed the sides of his temples to stem the oncoming headache and pulled up a chair.

“Zuko, sometimes a man and a woman love each other very much-”

“I know what sex is,” he mumbled into his hands.

“Oh, okay, then you know what the joke is.”

Zuko stilled. Jiro watched with amusement as the cogs turned in the boy’s head. His ears turned a bright shade of red. He stood up.

“Let’s not talk of this again.” Zuko said gruffly.

Jiro nodded. “Yes, let’s not.” He turned back to the cupboards and proceeded to get out a second plate. “And Zuko, you can always come down here if you’re hungry.”

The kid gave him a little smile before bowing and disappearing out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting will likely be erratic, but I'll try to post at least once a month or so!


	3. Chapter 3

Zuko was in the middle of raking leaves in the palace gardens when Yuna came over.

“Princess Azula wants you, she’s at the training grounds.”

“Not again,” mumbled Zuko.

“You two are so different,” remarked Yuna, watching as Zuko leaned the rake against the wall and started wiping the mud off his hands on some yellow leaves.

Zuko shrugged, “She’s a prodigy.”

Yuna gave him that look of eternal exasperation again. “That’s not—You know what? It doesn’t matter. You'd better get over there soon.”

Zuko nodded.

**

“Water, please,” called Azula.

Zuko ran over and handed her a glass, trying not to shake with embarrassment as Mai and Ty Lee looked on.

“Spar with me,” said Azula, inspecting her nails.

“I’d rather not,” said Zuko.

“Scared you’ll lose again?”

Zuko said nothing. This never ended well. But, surprisingly enough, Azula never seemed too interested in hurting him badly. He took off his tunic and got into position.

Azula grinned and the fight began. Zuko dodged and weaved, drawing on his anger, his humiliation. He let the rage he felt at the small slights he faced everyday flow out through his hands in jets of flames. But it was not enough. Azula deflected with ease and goaded him with stray sparks that distracted from her main flames. Zuko slipped into a defensive stance and focussed on blocking as she used moves he hadn’t seen before. He stepped backwards, approaching the outer ring of the training arena, watching as Azula’s shark-like grin grew wider. The fight was leaving his body. And then a slip, a quick turn to her friends to check she still had an audience, and Zuko ducked forward with a kick at her ankle. She fell on her side and Zuko stood over her. He was about to gloat when he saw the rage and hurt on her face.

He stepped back, letting her get up. She shot a casual flame in his direction, which he blocked without looking. They returned to their starting positions and bowed.

“Next time, I will end you,” she said.

“Okay,” he replied.

He stepped back and stood in the shade of the veranda. Mai came and stood by him.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he tried to not show how out of breath he was. They watched in silence as Azula practised katas with even more determination than before.

“We went to see a play last week,” she said, twirling a knife between her fingers. “ _Death Amongst the Volcanoes._ ”

“Okay,” said Zuko.

“They copied _Love Amongst the Dragons_ but did the opposite everywhere. Everyone died in the end. It was dull.”

Zuko tried not to smile. This was the most Mai had ever talked to him in one go before. Play it cool. Girls like it when you play it cool.

“Sounds it.”

“Zuzu, bring me some tea and biscuits, please,” Azula yelled over. She sang _please_ like she knew she didn’t have to say it.

Zuko left to fetch tea. He made it the way Uncle had shown him, and then let it cool so he didn’t have to do the usual walk-away-wait-a-bit-walk-back.

He brought it back with a plate of butter cookies and gave them to her with a bow.

“The tea’s cold, dum-dum,” she said, handing it back.

Zuko took it and warmed the cup gently with his hands. He handed it back.

“Always with your parlour tricks,” said Azula.

Zuko didn’t care. He was fairly sure he saw Mai’s cheek quirk with the shadow of a smile.

**

“How old are you, kid? Twelve?” asked Jiro as he watched Zuko knead dough for roti.

“I’m thirteen! And I turn fourteen next week, you baked me a cake last year,” cried Zuko.

“I probably did,” Jiro shrugged. He remembered vaguely baking a cake the last winter solstice.

Zuko kneaded harder. Jiro didn’t mind, better kneaded dough led to softer rotis.

“Which day exactly? In three days’ time?” Jiro knew the answer, but he was watching Zuko’s hands.

Ahh, there, even more kneading. The dough was becoming nicely soft and pliant now. Perfect.

“No, two days from now,” he bit out.

Jiro lit a small flame under the _tawa_.

“It’s a good consistency now. I want twenty rotis from that,” he said.

Zuko nodded.

**

Two days later, the rooster-pigs started to crow and Zuko found himself being physically dragged from the bed.

“Happy birthday!” his tormentor yelled as Zuko flailed.

Zuko peered through sleep-blurred eyes to see it was only Ninko.

“Get off me, what the fu—”

“Shota, come help me here, he’s heavier than he looks,” Ninko called over the man grumbly twisting his back.

Shota ambled over and grabbed Zuko’s legs as he kicked out. The heaving began.

“One!” shouted Ninko, as Zuko felt himself being tossed in the air.

He was dreaming. He must have been dreaming. What fresh hell was this?

“Two!”

They continued, repeating the heaving until they got to fourteen, then tossed him one last time, letting him land with a bump on his bed. Zuko scrambled up and got his hands ready in a fighting stance.

“What was that? Why did you attack me?” he yelled, then paused. “Why did you stop?”

Ninko looked at him like he was an idiot. Then he looked like _he_ was the idiot.

“Wait, it is your birthday, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So you got fourteen birthday bumps for your birthday?”

“…What are birthday bumps?”

"Wh-what do you mean, 'what are birthday bumps'-" Ninko spluttered.

“A thing we do to show our friends we love them by hurting them a little bit,” Shota murmured as he lay back down on his bed.

Zuko stared at them both.

“That’s weird.”

Ninko shrugged. “You seriously never got birthday bumps?”

“No, and I’m okay with that.”

“What did you do on your birthday?”

“The usual,” said Zuko, “a party, some cake, presents. Sometimes we went ice skating.”

“Ice skating, in Caldera?”

“Yeah,” grinned Zuko. “It’s kind of, well, cool. It’s indoors and I’ve heard it takes ten firebenders to constantly suck the heat out of the water to cool it enough to form ice.”

“Sounds expensive,” said Ninko.

“Yeah, I guess it was.”

**

Mirono grabbed the boy as he was passing by on the corridor.

“Prince Iroh would like you to bring him ginseng tea and two cups,” he said.

Zuko bowed and went to the kitchen. He walked in to find Kyong scrambling to hide something. The air smelled sweet and buttery.

“What are you cooking?”

“Nothing!” squeaked Kyong. “Just er- just busy, got a lot to do, what do you want?”

Jiro came over, looked at Kyong, who was making weird faces back at him, which were followed by quick swiping gestures. Jiro stalked over to stand right in front of Zuko and glare down at him.

“You need something, boy?” he growled.

“Just- just some ginseng tea and two cups,” he said, trying to peer around the head chef.

“Quit bothering my staff and go wait outside, I’ll bring it.”

Zuko stomped out. Everyone was being so weird today.

Jiro soon brought the tea and cups, which Zuko took to General Iroh. His uncle greeted him with a wide smile.

“Zuko, my boy, happy birthday!” he patted the cushion next to him.

Zuko sat down and Iroh poured. He took a sip and looked confused.

“Your tea-making has improved dramatically, nephew.”

“I, er, didn’t make it. It was Jiro.”

“Ah,” Iroh replied, his face settling into a natural smile.

Zuko fidgeted with the cup in his hands.

“Have you seen the Fire Lord recently?” he asked.

“My brother has been in war meetings all day, there have been uprisings near Omashu.” Iroh put his cup down and looked at Zuko. “I’m sure he wishes you a happy birthday too.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure he’s just busy.” Zuko thought he might be getting better at lying with all the games of Cheat he now played. But his uncle was looking at him again with that soft look that made Zuko feel read like an open book.

“I have a present for you,” said Iroh, as he stood up and went to his cupboard. He pulled out a warm winter coat. It was dark blue and lined with fur.

“I see your wardrobe has plenty of red, I thought a change of colour wouldn’t be the worst. And while your breath of fire can keep you warm, wearing a coat is an easy shortcut.”

“Thank you,” said Zuko. “It’s- it’s very nice.”

He didn’t know what else to say. How to say thank you for remembering his birthday, for remembering him when it felt like the rest of his family had chosen to forget.

Iroh settled back down and picked up his cup.

“Do you know, I was once captured by some Earth Kingdom soldiers?”

“Really?” Zuko leaned in.

“Yes. In my very first deployment, they caught me. They didn’t know who I was, and I pretended I didn’t know how to use my firebending, so they tied me up with rope, but that comes later. First, they kept asking me who my superiors were, and at the time I served under General Won. So, I said it could be Won, it could be Many. They asked me how I didn’t know how many I had. And I said I knew How, but they were not my commanding officer. Then they started to get angry and asked me which one of the Generals I served under. So, I said it was Won of the Generals. And then they got angrier…”

Zuko sipped tea and listened to his uncle’s stories, wondering how he’d managed to survive, hands uncrushed.

**

After spending the rest of the day mopping the hallways, Zuko was ready to fall asleep at dinner. All in all, it was a lame birthday and he missed his friends. Well, Azula’s friends. But it was still nice to see Mai and Ty Lee at his birthday parties.

He went into the mess hall to find Jiro standing by a cake.

“Happy birthday, kid.”

The cake was decorated with a big number twelve.

“I’m fourteen,” grumbled Zuko, but there was no heat in it. So, this is what they had been hiding. He looked down at the piece of parchment next to it. On the cover was a picture of a bloated ostrich-horse, or was it an elephant? He didn’t know. And inside were messages:

_Happy birthday, Zuko! – Kyong_

_Another year older, maybe another year wiser? – Yuna_

_Happy birthday, Zuko. It’s been nice watching your washing up improve. – Jiro_

_I hope you enjoy my son’s latest picture. He made it specially for you. – Shota_

_I’ve known you for six months and I still don’t know if you have a last name. – Ninko_

Zuko read them and tried not to care. He tried really hard. These people didn’t know him, not like his father and Azula and- he willed himself to let the train of thought go. These people were here, and they weren’t. He smiled.

“Thank you all,” he said.

“We have something for you,” said Mirono. He passed Zuko a box. Zuko opened it up to find a pair of leather shoes. “We pooled together for this. I know you have other shoes, but a pair of sturdy boots will serve you well.”

They were alright. A plain, muddy brown, like the ones he saw the vegetable vendors and farmers wearing. He realised he was finding it hard to swallow.

“I didn’t get you anything for your birthdays,” he mumbled.

“We get paid, kid. You don’t,” said Shota.

The silence grew uncomfortable until Yuna broke it.

“So, are you going to cut the cake?”

Zuko nodded and conversation resumed. The cake was a simple lapis legit, the kind Zuko would have dismissed earlier. But now it felt different. This kind of cake took effort, and someone thought he was worth that.

All in all, it wasn’t the worst birthday.

**

Zuko stared at the gently simmering pot.

“Do you ever think about how ramen is just bone tea brewed for a long time?” he asked.

Jiro put down knife. “Right, out.”

“What? I’m just saying… instead of hot leaves, it’s just bones—”

“I said out.” Just then, Kyong walked in carrying a basket of potatoes. “Kyong, take him with you to buy vegetables. Don’t forget to add garlic to the list.”

Zuko left with the sous-chef.

“What did you say to him?” she asked as they made their way out of the palace grounds.

“Nothing!” Zuko crossed his arms. “Just that ramen is bone tea.”

Kyong pursed her lips at him.

“What?”

“That’s so stupid and yet, now I can’t unsee it.”

They walked into the town market, where Kyong stopped at one of the less crowded vegetable stalls. 

Something was off. Zuko watched as Kyong smiled at the vendor, and the man smiled back. Like they knew each other.

“Have you come back for more eggplants?”

“Not today,” she said quietly. “I, uh, would like some carrots, and, uh, potatoes--”

“But you already have potatoes,” interrupted Zuko. “You brought them into the kitchen just before we left!”

“Did I?” she squeaked. She looked flustered as she pushed strands of hair out of her slowly reddening face. “I forgot.”

“Let me see,” said Zuko, snatching the parchment out of her hand. “See, it’s not even on your list.” Zuko cleared his throat and started reading in his regal voice. “We would like ten kilos of carrots, five kilos of turnips, six large gourds and—what’s this?” He showed the list to Kyong.

“Uh, coriander.”

“Two bunches of coriander, please.”

“Yan,” said the vendor. He extended his hand towards Kyong, who took it.

“Kyong,” she replied.

Zuko looked at the young man. His sharp, tanned face had a scar across the cheek, likely from a blade. His eyes were a murky green. They crinkled when he smiled. Which he was doing a lot of right now.

Whatever this was, Zuko wanted to hurry it along.

“Do you mind?”

Yan coughed and started to gather the vegetables, before looking up. “What was it you wanted again?”

Zuko rolled his eyes as he controlled the urge to shout. “I said ten kilos of carrots, five kilos of turnips, six gourds, make them large please, and two bunches of coriander.”

“Right,” said Yan, and started to pick up potatoes.

“Seriously, what is wrong with you both?” Zuko asked with concern. Maybe there was a chemical leak from a nearby factory or something, making people dizzy and smiley and stupid? “I’ll get them myself,” he said, coming round to the vendor’s side where the weighing scales were kept.

Kyong was staring at her feet, while occasionally looking up, so she was basically useless. Zuko ran through the list, gathered the vegetables, and asked for a price. Yan cleared his throat again and gave the total. Zuko paid after minimal haggling and left with the bag. Kyong trailed behind him.

They made it back to the palace in silence. Kyong just kept grinning at everything, at children playing on doorsteps, annoying businessmen who walked into them on the streets, everyone and everywhere got a little smile from her.

The cogs turned in Zuko brain as things fell into place. He stopped walking.

“You don’t—you don’t think he’s _cute_ , do you?” he asked accusingly.

“What? No!” She gaped at him, then ducked her head. “Maybe a tiny bit?”

“You know he’s only smiling at you so he can charge a higher price, right?”

“You think?” She sounded so dejected that Zuko felt bad.

“Probably. Or, or maybe he thinks you’re nice or something?”

The smile came back to her face, weaker this time. “Who knows?”

Zuko shrugged and they went back into the kitchen.

Jiro took the basket and rifled through, before looking up in exasperation.

“Where’s the garlic?”


	4. Chapter 4

The nightmares had been bad yesterday. Bad enough that Ninko had woken Zuko in the middle of the night to ask if he could help.

Zuko had shaken his head, not trusting himself to speak, and left the room.

They discovered him asleep in a ball on the tattered couch in the corner of the mess hall. His hands were still holding a book about the Water Tribes.

Zuko begged Mirono that day to let him work the night shift for a few days.

Mirono had heard enough palace gossip to simply agree.

**

There was rain coming. Taiyo could feel it in his fingers. He shifted his weight forwards, and then back again. It was a quiet night and his legs had decided to go to sleep.

Apparently, so had the guard standing next to him. Taiyo looked at the boy leaning against the wall, eyes closed, gentle breath, and felt an abhorrence so deep he needed to avert his eyes to allow his stomach to settle. He thought of his own child, taken from him by the swamp rash at the measly age of five. The miscarriages and tears and feelings of emptiness. He thought of fathers who burned and discarded their sons.

The mark was still an angry red, starting to wrinkle at the edges. The kid winced sometimes when he changed expression too suddenly.

It started to rain. He slowly bent his fingers and straightened them again.

Guarding the palace at night, that too, a locked side entrance, was an undemanding job. He was grateful for it. The work was quiet, which suited his temperament. The salary was decent, which suited his wallet. As long as no one discovered the disease slowly crippling his bones, he could continue at it for another five to ten years. He prayed to Agni that it may be so.

He’d seen too much to believe the spirits looked out for little people like him.

An ostrich-horse drawn carriage passing the other side of the wall woke the ex-prince out of his reverie. “Huh, wha-? I was awake!” he cried, jumping off the wall and into a fighting stance.

“Relax, kid, just a horse,” said Taiyo. He looked out through the darkness, his fingers itching for a _beedi_.

The kid slumped against the wall.

“It’s raining?”

Taiyo hmmed.

They went back to watching the empty street in silence.

“Are your hands okay?” the boy asked, breaking the silence. Taiyo looked down to find he was again slowly stretching and bending his fingers. He quickly shoved his hands behind his back.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he grunted.

The rain lessened. Taiyo took in the smell of wet grass and listened.

There it was. The trundle of cartwheels approaching.

“Time for a tea break,” he said.

The boy followed him bemusedly as he headed to the tea vendor. He bought two cups, passed one to the boy, and the proceeded to roll a _beedi_.

“Bad weather tonight,” said the vendor.

Taiyo hmmed. He lit his cigarette. After the first couple of puffs, he started to feel better.

The kid made a face at the tea but continued to drink.

Taiyo looked out onto the street. There was something in these witching hour tea sessions that brough solace to him. The world slept and he watched.

They stood there for fifteen minutes, sipping and refilling, until he was through his third _beedi_. With that, he paid the vendor and started to walk back to the door he guarded.

“The tea is terrible,” Taiyo said.

The kid nodded. “But why do you buy it then?”

“Because in the middle of the night, you buy from whoever is willing to supply tea. Shite or not. If there was anyone else willing to sell even slightly better tea every night to the guards, they’d make a killing. But who wants to be up every night for the sale of thirty cups of tea?” Thus, ended Taiyo’s Economic Theory of Tea.

“So, you buy the tea every night even though you don’t think it’s good?”

“Every night. Same time, same guy. And I’ll continue to do so until a better vendor comes along.”

“What is it with people and tea,” the kid murmured to himself as he settled back against the wall.

They stood together in relative silence until the dawn.

**

It had been a year since Yuna had sat healer-slash-guard at the ex-prince’s bedside. A year during which she’d watched the boy ask Mirono every two weeks or so to be allowed to serve the Fire Lord’s tea or dinner or _something_.

Mirono had always said no. She understood why and was glad for it.

But not today. Tonight, there was a grand banquet to celebrate the successful defeat of recent uprisings in the Hu Xin Provinces. The nobility of Royal Caldera City would be there, along with senior members of the Fire Nation army. Otherwise known as People Yuna Did Not Like™.

“Zuko, you will be joining the other waitstaff on drinks and canapes.”

Zuko masked a grin with a determined nod and bowed. Yuna fought to not roll her eyes. Agni, this kid was so transparent.

The night did not get off to a great start. The hall was busy, and the guests were really making the most of the best of the royal palace’s cellars. One person had already spilled a plate of samosas and then looked at her expectantly as she started to clean up. She wiped at the sauce and tried to think of the young captain she had served earlier. He had looked at her offerings of samosas and spring rolls, eyes darting between one and the other, desperately torn, until, with glee, he picked up both and went on his merry way.

She guessed she didn’t mind those kinds of people. The ones who took this kind of an event as an opportunity to try all the food that was usually out of their pay grade.

She was currently not standing next to one of those people.

The lady was dressed in furs in the summer heat, sweating profusely as the wine took hold.

“Darling, Yuma, was it?” She waved her hand, landing it heavily on her shoulder. “You really _must_ try and make it in the world, you know? Try and _be something._ ” She gestured vaguely around the room, as if the something to be was what was around them.

Yuna grinned tightly and offered her some food.

“No, but another glass of red would be _lovely._ ”

Yuna nodded and took the opportunity to leave the hall to the staff room behind the curtains.

Zuko stormed in behind her. He slammed his tray of empty wine glasses down on the table.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“These people are _weird,_ ” he growl-whispered.

At least the kid had learnt when to whisper, she’d give him that.

“Some of them keep trying to be _nice_ to me. But not _real_ nice, not like y—not like genuinely nice. More a strange kind of smiling nice as they tell me that this is beneath me and I’m still a prince to them. As if I don’t know this is beneath me!” Zuko huffed. “No offense.”

“Offense taken. No job is too small,” Yuna said bluntly as she poured out a glass of red wine and started refilling her tray.

“Sorry, you’re right,” said Zuko. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. “And then there’s people like _Zhao_ , who keep sneering and clicking their fingers at me when they ask me for stuff and I just want to throw a fireball at him but I don’t think that’s the point of this punishment.” He put his face in his hands. “Why is it so hard to be humble?”

“Because you’re human. And humans want to be treated with respect and dignity,” Yuna said. “It’s not about being humble.” Zuko looked at her like she’d said something noteworthy rather than a basic fact. Yuna continued, “I’ve got to get this wine to a lady, who really should stop at this point, before she starts complaining about bad service. But come with me and we’ll see who we can find with the stupidest hair.”

Zuko gave her a small smile and followed her out with a refilled tray of drinks. Yuna gave the lady in furs her glass and continued to circulate with canapes. She watched as Zuko held out the tray awkwardly to dignitaries with whom he’d usually converse as equals, if not as a superior.

And it was true. People _were_ weird around him. People didn’t seem to want to look at his face, and instead stared past him. Or they avoided going near him altogether.

“Two o’clock,” he murmured in her direction. “Strong contender.”

At their two o’clock was, indeed, a lady with masses of curls balanced precariously on her head. She held her neck rigidly upright, as if the slightest tilt would result in her keeling over.

They were near the Fire Lord. Of course, they were. She’d watched Zuko hovering within ten feet of the Fire Lord for large parts of the evening, so it hardly came as a surprise that he’d been gently nudging them towards him.

Zuko didn’t seem to care that his father had been studiously ignoring him all evening.

Zuko seemed to work up some courage, steadying his hands on his tray. He went up to him and offered a drink. The man brushed him away without looking. The kid shuffled back towards Yuna, looking dejected.

Yuna tried to cheer him up. “Seven o’clock. We have a winner.”

Over there was a man with a bowl cut, that he had grown out at the back into a mullet.

Zuko turned eagerly to see and bumped straight into a retired general. The tray fell to the floor with a loud thud, drinks spilling as some of the glasses smashed. With a quiet “shit”, he dropped to the floor and started to gather the shards onto the tray.

The Fire Lord finally turned to look at his son. As Yuna knelt to help the boy, she looked up to see him staring at Zuko with mild disgust.

Two things that had been vague suspicions solidified into facts in her mind:

  1. Fire Lord Ozai never planned to let Zuko return to being Crown Prince
  2. If Yuna ever had to choose where her loyalties lay, she’d have no hesitation



**

A war meeting involving all the military leaders in attendance at the gala was scheduled for the following day. Zuko was just leaving the meeting room when the chief of staff ran into him.

“Uh, sorry,” Zuko apologised.

Mirono gave him one of those confused looks he kept getting from his colleagues.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” said Mirono. “Are the chairs set out?”

“Yes, done. The tables are prepared as well.”

“Good work.”

“It was nothing, just some chairs.”

The chief of staff rubbed at his temples. “Just learn to take a compliment, Zuko. Now get going, I need to do a full inspection of the room.”

“I wanted to asked if I could wait on the guests at the meeting,” said Zuko, trying not to let his voice waver.

He watched as Mirono readied himself to deny his request before he paused.

“You know what? We’re short of staff. You can be on guard duty, but _you keep your mouth tightly sealed._ And I mean not a peep.”

“I’m not an idiot. I’ve learnt from that mistake,” Zuko scowled.

“Fair enough, sorry for bringing that up,” said Mirono, mollified. “Itachi will join you there, just follow his lead.”

Zuko bowed.

“Kid, I’m not royalty. You don’t need to do that so much.”

“I’m humble,” he said, bowing again.

Mirono let out an aborted laugh and strode away.

**

Twenty minutes later, Zuko stood to attention as he held the doors open for the generals and captains. A few bowed uncomfortably, _treasonously_ , low bows in his direction. Others tried their best to not look at his face. Uncle greeted him with a nod and a smile.

The doors opened one last time to admit the Fire Lord and the Crown Princess. Zuko felt the green serpent rear its ugly head. He remembered how he’d had to argue with Uncle to be allowed in, and here was Azula, entering at the side of the Fire Lord. They strode in, ignoring the guards, and looked over the room as the assembled men and women rose from their seats.

“Please, let us begin.”

The meeting centred around discussions of supply chains and deserts that couldn’t be crossed and strongholds that needed to be maintained. Zuko listened with fascination, soaking up every word for when he would sit by his father’s side and help with these decisions.

The talks turned to the latest attack on a decommissioned coal factory on the outskirts of Hua Xin.

“It is outrageous. Those dirt-eaters think they can attack Fire Nation property and get away with it,” stormed a croaky general as he leaned against his cane. “Back in my day, we did not tolerate such insolence. We must respond!” He lifted his cane with a wobbly hand and prodded the map on the table. “We send in the 38th Division, stationed here, to attack their food stores in the heart of Hua Xin.”

“With all due respect, sir, we shouldn’t do this!”

Heads turned to find the source of the noise. It was a young man in a captain’s uniform.

“Captain Nigai, you are here as my special guest, please hold your tongue,” said the stern-looking general standing by his side.

“I apologise. It’s just that they attacked a factory we no longer use. To reciprocate by destroying most of their winter food supplies—well—it will only lead to more hatred and uprisings in an area where we are already struggling!” The captain’s voice grew higher and higher until he ended in a squeak.

The general was about to speak but the Fire Lord rose.

“Captain Nigai, I wish to remind you of what happens to those who disrespect me in my war room.” His voice was cold, calculated.

Zuko felt the members of the room collectively turn to face him. He wished he could slip behind the curtain or that the floor would open and swallow him whole. But he couldn’t do that, so he settled from glaring at each person individually until they stopped staring out of awkwardness.

“My sincerest apologies,” said the captain, bowing deeply and holding the bow. “I take it back. The plan is an excellent one.”

The Fire Lord sat back down. The meeting resumed.

Zuko watched the flames behind the man that used to be his father. He wondered how he’d never seen before that it wasn’t love, or even loyalty, that kept the Fire Lord’s generals in line.

*

Zuko squinted, trying to use his good eye to cut the noodles to the right thickness. His hand shook as he tried for the fourth time to create something up to Jiro’s standards.

They were making kal-guksu, a process that was _not_ going in Zuko’s flavour. Kyong had mixed the dough for the knife cut noodles, shown him quickly with a few expert chops that had led to him _grossly_ underestimate the difficulty of cutting noodles by hand, and then hurried on to other things. An hour later, she yelled something about how the soup was ready, it just needed the noodles now, and was shucking off her apron and putting on a pair of heels.

Zuko made another slice, his tongue peeking out of the side of his mouth.

“Change of plans!” Jiro yelled as he marched into the kitchen.

“You have got to be kidding me!” he yelled. The knife dropped from his hand. “I’ve been cutting these for an hour!”

“That’s rough, kid,” said Jiro, not sounding like he cared _at all._ “We have orders that it’s too warm for kal-guksu. The Crown Princess requests sushi. Kyong, can you start on the rice, please. I’ll handle the fish. Zuko, go find something else to do.”

Kyong dejectedly got back out of her heels with little protest. Zuko washed up and was in the corridor outside the kitchen when Kyong ran up to him.

“I, er, was wondering if you could take this to Yan,” she whispered, shoving a folded scrap of parchment in his hand.

“Who’s Yan? The vegetable vendor you make eyes at—” Zuko was interrupted by Kyong slapping a hand over his mouth as she looked around furtively.

“Yes, yes! The one I _make_ _eyes_ at,” she hissed. “Just give him this you dunderhead.”

Zuko shrugged. “Okay.”

He took the long route to the vegetable market, wandering around the stalls that sold swords and other weaponry. He thought of his own dual dao swords, hanging uselessly on the wall of his bedroom. When he went back to being a prince, he’d need to catch up on a heck of a lot of training.

He browsed the swords, seeing a pair he quite liked the look of. Well-maintained, the tip not too sharp, the steel glinted. He stared at it until he saw the reflection of someone approaching behind him. Zuko spun round.

“If you’re not buying, piss off!” growled the shopkeeper. He then took a step back and looked at Zuko carefully. “Prince Zuko?” He dropped into a bow. “Please accept by humblest apologies, I took you for—doesn’t matter, I didn’t recognise who you were.”

Zuko panicked. “I’m not er, I’m not the Prince.” He glanced desperately around, catching sight of a ‘Made in Earth Kingdom’ sticker. “I’m, uh, Li.”

The sword vendor came halfway up from his low bow to narrow his eyes.

“That’s a very Earth Kingdom name you have there,” he said.

“I’m a tourist,” Zuko felt like he was watching himself from a distance. A tired part of him decided to sit down and enjoy the show. “I hail from, erm, Ba Sing Se. I’m here on holiday.”

“You’re on holiday in a nation at war with your own?”

“What war?” squeaked Zuko.

The shopkeeper seemed to consider this, before giving a half-shrug, seemingly convinced. “You sound like you’re from Ba Sing Se alright. Well, Prince—er, Li, you can look, but you can’t touch, and no loitering with no intent to purchase,” the shopkeeper reeled off, glancing over Zuko’s shoulder at another approaching customer. He walked away after that, his eyes locked on the lady in elegant robes being dragged towards his stall by an unruly teen.

Zuko took the opportunity to run—no, just walking quickly, _not running_ —away.

As he approached Yan’s cart, the boy caught sight of him and smiled broadly.

“Hey, Zuko! Everything alright?”

Zuko gave an uncertain smile back.

“I’m well, thank you. I hope, er, business is booming?”

That was appropriate shop talk, right?

Yan gave him a quizzical look.

“Er, business is okay, I guess? Is Kyong not with you?” he asked, looking around.

“She sends this,” Zuko replied, handing over the parchment.

Yan unrolled it eagerly before his face fell.

“Okay, just wait a second,” he said. He got out some old receipts and started to scrawl hurriedly on them. “There, can you pass this back to her?” He crouched behind the cart and opened a door to the spacious inside teeming with fruits and vegetables of all kinds. “Also, can you give her this?” He stood back up with a mango in his hand. “I had been saving the best one to share with her, but I guess she can have it.”

Zuko solemnly took the piece of paper and the mango with a nod and turned to walk away. But then he hesitated, set his shoulders, and turned back.

“I don’t know what your intentions are towards Kyong, but I know she has a soft spot for you. I want you to know that if you hurt her, _I’ll hurt you_ ,” growled Zuko. He threw in a glare for good measure. He knew how scary his face could look when he glared. “I have a knife and I’m not afraid to use it.”

This was technically not true. The knife was still in his old bedroom along with all the other relics of his previous life. But he could borrow one from the kitchen if needed.

Yan looked taken aback for exactly half a second before the grin was back.

“I would never hurt her, kid. And I certainly don’t want to meet the pointy end of your knife, so I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Good.”

Before he could question too much why he’d done that, Zuko turned heel and left.

**

A sticky, post-monsoon heat had set in. The sun was bearing down hard on Zuko’s back as he scooped up more pondweed with his net and dumped it in the wheelbarrow. Despite the sweat dripping into his eyes, it made him happy to see the turtleducks spreading out across the extra surface of the pond.

“When you’re done there, come help me pick bananas,” Ninko shouted over from the other side of the garden.

Zuko finished up and deposited the pondweed on the compost heap hidden behind the main garden. He followed the young man over to the banana plantation and started picking.

They picked for about an hour when Ninko sat down on a mat of leaves and started to peel a banana.

Zuko gaped at him.

“We can’t eat them! That’s theft!”

“Keep your voice down!” Ninko looked around furtively, then relaxed. “There’s tons of bananas here,” he gestured to the vast expanse of the plantation. “Doesn’t matter if we eat a couple.”

Zuko shrugged.

“Still theft.”

“Suit yourself,” said Ninko, “but man, are you missing out. The harvest this year is delicious!”

He continued to make groans of pleasure as he described the sweetness of a warm, ripe banana on a sunny day.

Zuko ignored him for a while, until he couldn’t anymore. He stomped over, grabbed a banana, and peeled it violently. He took a bite. It tasted like banana. Like fresh, tasty, ripe banana. But nothing he’d not had before.

“This is just a banana!”

“Yeah, what did you expect?”

“You—" he spluttered, “you were there being so poetic about this banana, I thought it’d taste incredible or something!”

“It’s just a banana, how good can it be?”

Zuko rolled his eyes and took another angry bite. It _was_ a nice banana. And eating it here, sitting in the shade of the canopy of leaves, was kind of nice too.

“Imagine growing up in another nation,” said Ninko, peeling his second banana. “It’d suck. Imagine having to eat just seals and fish and children all day like in the Water Tribe.”

“I don’t think they eat children. I think that’s just a rumour people tell their kids to keep them in line.”

“Or being part of the Earth Kingdom, where all the food is bland all the time. My brother was stationed at the frontier near Gaipan and he said they don’t know any spices outside of salt and pepper.”

Zuko thought back to what he knew of Gaipan. It was a poor town with little to offer to the Fire Nation in terms of resources. Maybe they just couldn’t afford spices.

“Yeah, we’ve got the best food,” he said.

“And the best clothes.”

Zuko grunted in agreement, starting on his second banana.

“And _definitely_ the best element for bending. Imagine being an earthbenders. They put you in a metal box and you’re done for.”

Zuko didn’t bother explaining the same applied for firebenders. Instead, he just said, “Yeah, for sure.”

“And the best army,” said Ninko.

“That too.”

“My brother’s in the army. 32nd Division. Says there’s been a lot of wins recently.”

“That’s good,” said Zuko.

“It was a bit weird though. He got a bit drunk and then started telling us about how the Fire Nation raids towns and sometimes kills earthbenders they find.” He looked at Zuko. “We don’t do that, do we?”

“I’m sure we don’t. The Fire Lord won’t allow it,” said Zuko. He tried not to think about the Hua Xin Provinces.

“Yeah—yeah, you must be right. That’d be barbaric. And my brother did say that the Earth Kingdom soldiers hurt firebenders too, so maybe it’s okay. It’s just war.”

“It’s just war,” Zuko agreed.

“And we’re spreading civilisation,” said Ninko.

“Yeah.”

“But then why do we burn their towns down?”

Zuko paused his munching. “We do?”

“I dunno, my brother said that,” Ninko shrugged. “Maybe he was exaggerating. Maybe the soldiers set fire to the odd school or house or something.”

Zuko said nothing. He was worried this conversation was veering scarily towards treason.

“It’s just a part of war,” said Ninko, stretching his arms and gathering the peel.

“Yeah.”

“We have to bury the peel now,” said Ninko, brushing down his clothes.

“What?”

“It _was_ theft,” said Ninko with a shrug. “We have to get rid of the evidence.”

Zuko dragged a hand down his face.

“I’m never listening to you again.”

They started to dig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: a beedi is a sort of roll-your-own cigarette popular in South Asia. 
> 
> I'm taking an extended break over the holidays, but hope to update again near the end of January or so!


	5. Chapter 5

It was a quiet spring day. Zuko stood for a second by the window and looked down at the garden below. The flowers were in bloom and, if he squinted, he could see the turtleducklings following their mother out of the pond.

Of course, instead of something nice like working in the garden, he was stuck with cleaning the royal chambers.

“You missed a spot,” said Azula, sitting upright on her bed, a finger outstretched.

It had been nearly two years since he became the palace errand boy, and by now he’d learnt that it was better to not argue. Instead, he went to the spot and swept at the clean floor. Royals were simple folk. They just liked to feel obeyed.

“Want to hear a joke I got from Ty Lee?”

Zuko leaned against his broom and shrugged. “Go on.”

“What do the firebending police say when they’ve caught bakery burglars?”

“What do they say?”

“You’re toast!”

“They burn thieves to a crisp for stealing bread?” asked Zuko, horrified.

“It’s a joke, Zuko. Spirits, it seems living with the staff has rotted your brain.”

“But surely they don’t kill people for stealing food?”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Azula. “Maybe.”

Zuko continued to sweep. He hoped he’d buried the banana peel deep enough.

**

Zuko set up the titration bench with precision. Beside him, Yuna pounded the coarse mixture of spinach and chicken pig liver. They were working in Yuna’s room, a cramped space in the lower west wing. A mess of books and herbalist equipment were scattered across the desk.

Here was Yuna’s solace. Every afternoon, she would spend a few hours trying to concoct tinctures and solutions for the royal apothecaries. She’d heard some of her products had gone on to do quite well on the market. Not that she ever saw the fruits of her labour. Nonetheless, the process reminded her of the life she’d had. Five years spent studying the healing properties of plants by candlelight only to lose her father to a simple, curable illness, left only with memories and his debt. She left her studies and took the first decent-paying job she could find. 

Sometimes the past wasn’t worth dwelling on.

She pounded the pestle harder.

Once the mixture was ready, she transferred a small volume of it and started to titrate some alkali into the mixture until the indicator changed colour. She made a note.

“Can I ask you something?”

Zuko had been very quiet all afternoon. Looking up from her notepad, she saw he looked nervous. She put down her quill.

“Go on.”

“Do you think I’ll ever get to go back?” asked Zuko, his voice low. Yuna hesitated, so he continued. “I-I don’t even care at this point. I don’t know if I _could_ go back. Just pretend this-this _demotion_ never happened. To just go back being waited on and ordering people about and-and living with knowing what could happen if I—Never mind.” He stopped abruptly.

Yuna looked at him. The boy was hunched over, scowling. She wiped a hand on her apron and put it on his shoulder.

“I don’t know how to say this, Zuko—”

“I know what you’re going to say. ‘Have patience and keep trying, you just need to keep showing you can be humble--’”

“No, I was going to say there’s pretty much no way you’re going back.” The words came out before she could acknowledge what she was saying. “Not that—I mean—well, shit.”

She was about to pull her hand away when Zuko leaned into her touch. He angrily swiped at his eyes, letting a few loose tears escape down his cheeks.

“I don’t know what he _wants_ ,” he said in a broken whisper. “I try and I try and he just seems disappointed.”

“Have you heard of the story of Ra and Lo?”

Zuko shook his head.

“It’s an old Earth Kingdom tale. There was once a queen named Ra. She was a smart and beautiful queen, but cruel. She was feared by her subjects rather than loved. She had a daughter named Lo. Lo was also smart, but she wasn’t beautiful. When Ra first saw her, she thought she had nothing to worry about. But Lo grew up to be kind. She grew up to be generous. You see, she cared about her subjects, and care and love only inspired care and love back for her. Ra grew jealous. She couldn’t bear to see her daughter being loved and respected in a way she had never been. So, she did what any loving mother would do. She gave her a task she could never finish. Ra told Lo she had to push a boulder up a hill. Now, the top of the hill was rounded, with nowhere for the boulder to rest. So, just as she reached the top, the boulder would roll down again, and she’d start again. They say even today, Lo is trying to roll that boulder up that hill.”

Zuko thought for a while.

“Am I Lo or Ra in that story?”

Yuna slapped her forehead. “ _How_? How could you not get that? You’re obviously Lo, dude.”

“Okay,” he paused, “But I’m not very kind or generous or anything. And I don’t have a boulder.”

“You know what, I give up,” said Yuna. “Can you start mashing more spinach and chicken-pig liver?”

Zuko nodded.

**

“Mirono, what’s the punishment for theft?”

Mirono looked up from his desk to the boy standing in the doorway.

“Why, what have you done?”

“Nothing! Just--just wondering.”

“Well, it depends on what you stole.”

Zuko shifted in the doorway. “I stole nothing. But say someone was to steal fruit or bread or something.”

Mirono put down his pen. “Hanging, drawing and quartering,” he deadpanned.

The kid seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded.

“Okay, thanks.” 

**

Zuko tugged at his sleeves.

He had turned fifteen half a year ago, and with it, came a growth spurt that just didn’t seem to end. The new tunics Mirono and the staff had gotten him were starting to ride up his forearms already.

“Quit pulling at them, it probably just shrunk in laundry,” said Shota. “Also, please stop growing. It’s disturbing to watch the passage of time so vividly like this.”

“I can’t help it,” grumbled Zuko. He tugged at his sleeves again and gave up. There was a restlessness in his hands. An urge to set something alight. He sat down and tried to take some deep breaths.

It had been almost two years since the Agni Kai. Two years of using his firebending mostly for lighting fires in hearths and kitchen stoves. At first, it had been a relief. Gone were the endless hours of training where every mistake was picked apart by the meticulous eyes of his teachers. The feeling of shame as he watched Azula progress far faster than he’d ever done.

And then, over the last few months, a longing had set in. He meditated every night, forming a small ball of fire between his palms and breathing into the sensation. But recently, it wasn’t enough. He itched for Azula to ask to spar him, if only to launch some fireballs.

But Azula had moved on to more advanced forms such as lightning bending. (How did that even work? How could anyone feel so much rage, and yet, nothing at all, to call upon cold fire?) She no longer wasted her time on fights she knew she’d win.

“Kid, I’m going home next weekend, would you like to come? My wife and kid want to meet you.” Shota was speaking to him again. Zuko put out the idle flame he’d been holding between his palms and turned to look at him.

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just said, “I don’t think I’m allowed to.”

Mirono sighed. “Kid, you’ve worked here what, two years now?”

“Two years, three months and--” Zuko paused to count. “And eleven days.”

“Okay. And how many days have you taken off?”

“I don’t _need_ a day off,” bristled Zuko. 

“I’m sure you don’t. But you know, if you want to help me carry my work home, you can.”

“You just have two folders that you take home, why would you need me?” 

(Why was Shota asking him these things? Was it some kind of trap?)

(Maybe the Fire Lord had told Shota to test if Zuko would take a day off and leave the palace without his permission? Or, or maybe he wanted to see if Zuko would refuse to do a pointless task, thus proving he’d learnt nothing over these past two years--)

“Kid, I can see you’re overthinking this so I’m going to just ask Mirono to order you to come help me. My poor joints are not what they used to be,” said Mirono, stretching out his back dramatically. 

“ _Fine._ ”

Just then, Uncle came to the door of their room. They both stood and bowed low, open palms on closed fists.

“Please, there is no need,” said Uncle, genially. “I came to ask you, Zuko, if you would accompany me in some leaf-picking for tea. I have reports of a lovely brew that can be extracted from leaves of the wildberry bush.”

Seeing the disguised order for what it was, Zuko nodded and left. He followed him out of the palace and into the surrounding countryside. They walked for a while, talking of Zuko’s advances in sushi-making (he almost got the rice perfectly sticky these days) and Uncle’s discoveries in the perfect brewing temperature for ginseng (just below boiling for twenty seconds, and then slow take the temperature down and hold for another five minutes). 

At last, they stopped. They climbed up a hill and arrived at a field surrounded by a thicket of trees on one side, with a sheer drop on the other. 

“Where are these bushes?” asked Zuko.

“We’ll get to that later. First, I want you to run through some basic firebending katas and then move on to the more advanced forms you remember.”

Zuko stared at him, unsure whether this was some kind of trick. Uncle, wouldn’t trick him, would he?

Uncle Iroh seemed to see the look of confusion and panic on his face. “Nephew, I know you haven’t been training in so long, but I think it would do you good to take your fire out somewhere other than the laundry.”

Zuko blushed and looked down. He should have known that wasn’t going to stay hidden. He was ironing clothes by running his hands over them when he lapsed into his thoughts and before he knew it, the trousers were on fire. After hastily putting it out, he’d tried to cut away the burnt part and neatly patch up the hole. 

“Do not misunderstand me, Zuko. I don’t care about the hole in my trousers, thought admittedly they were a favourite pair. I only wish to allow you the space to keep up your training.” He came nearer and smiled. “You have potential, my boy. With hard work and determination, you could become a true master.”

Zuko scowled. “I’ll never be able to catch up to Azula.”

Uncle Iroh seemed to consider this. At last, he asked, “Do you enjoy firebending?”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Zuko. “Sometimes. When I’m not making mistakes.”

“Forget about the mistakes. Do you derive pleasure from just letting the energy flow through you?”

“Yes, I guess I do.”

“Then you should do it just for that. Forget about Azula or anyone else. Do it just for yourself.”

Zuko paused. He wasn’t the type to do things just for himself. Actions needed to have a purpose, a goal. 

But nowadays, he played cards just because it was fun. He sometimes cooked things that weren’t on the menu just because it was fun. Maybe firebending could be like this too? 

Plus, continuing training would allow him to guard the palace better. So technically this could count as work?

(Then why are you doing it in secret in this field in the middle of nowhere?)

(Shut up brain.)

“Okay,” he said.

Uncle gave him a warm smile and they began. 

At first, Zuko felt a nervous energy as he considered how they started. But after the initial moves, the basic katas flowed through his muscle memory. The flames in his hands were like old friends. He could feel his core settling as the months of anger and frustration left through his hands. 

And then the fire stopped coming so easily.

Zuko panicked. He tried to rear the rage he felt, at his situation, at his mother, at his fath--the Fire Lord. He tried to think of the humiliation of wearing his weakness on his face. The stares and comments. But traitorous thoughts kept coming in the way. 

(His situation had led to him making acquaintances, if not actual _friends_.)

(His mother left to protect him. And now he thought of the extent Itachi would go for his daughter or Shota for his son, and he felt he understood.)

(The Fire Lord had freed him of the pressure of always being second. Zuko the Not Good Enough.)

(His scar let him discern who cared enough to look beyond it.)

He pushed these thoughts aside and tried again, grunting and throwing a punch with all his might.

A flame came out, weak spluttering. 

He sat down on the dusty earth and put his head between his hands. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I can’t get angry enough. I have so many reasons to be, but I just can’t.”

His uncle sat down beside him and put an arm around him. 

“Fire is not just anger and hate, Zuko.” 

“That’s just crazy, of course it is,” Zuko bit out. “My teachers have always told me to hold on to my anger and let it out when training. That hate helps our fire be stronger. It used to be so easy, and now I can’t.”

“Using hatred to fuel your fire works for a while. Your fire will be strong and dangerous. But after a while, this hate will eat away at you until there’s nothing left.” Uncle opened his palm to a small flame dancing with ease on his palm. “Instead, try and think of fire as life. It is the Sun and the warmth She gives us. It is the energy that allows things to breathe and grow and be. The fire is your will to keep living, keep fighting, coming out of you in a burst.”

Zuko gritted his teeth and focussed on the sun’s heat prickling his skin. He thought of the children he saw on the streets, their parents trying their best to make ends meet. He thought of their will to live, his will to protect them. He may not be their prince, but they were still his people. He let the warmth he felt towards them radiate through him. A small ball of fire appeared in his hands, easy and gentle and warm. The flame felt different. It moved with the smallest gesture from his wrists, as if it was reading his mind.

“Excellent, Zuko!” Uncle said with a clap. “That’s it!”

“It’s tiny,” he said, bashful. But even as he was saying that, the ball grew in his hands. He pushed further with his mind, feeding it this newfound warmth from within. Soon it was coming out in streams.

Things progressed faster after that.

In some ways, training with this new fire was more meditative than meditation. He moved through the basic katas with ease, breath calm and steady, the fire following his thoughts. He moved on to some of the harder forms where Uncle often offered suggestions that made _no sense._

(“You need to be light-footed like an airbender. Imagine you are floating on a ball of air.”)

(“Zuko, being on your toes all the time makes your stance weak at the base. Root yourself to the ground through your heel like an earthbender.”)

(“Uncle, you _just_ said the opposite! What’s it going to be, light-footed or strong stance?”)

(“You must be both, nephew. For only when you can adapt quickly will you be able to overcome challenges you have not met in training.”)

(“How in Agni’s name am I meant to prepare for things I don't know are coming? I give up.”)

(But, Zuko being Zuko, he didn’t really know how to give up. So he just kept going.)

They trained for two hours, after which they spent another hour picking some leaves from wildberry bushes. Or what Uncle thought were wildberry bushes but didn’t really fit the whole description Uncle had given. (Zuko promised to check with Yuna before letting him brew any tea.)

They then started to walk back.

“If you want, we can go gather tea leaves a couple of times a week from now on,” said Uncle.

Zuko nodded.

“Okay”

**

Zuko bumped into Mirono as he attempted to sneak into his room, smelling suspiciously like burnt cloth. He apologised and dropped into a bow.

“Zuko, what have you been doing?”

“Erm, picking wildberry leaves for Uncle’s tea,” he said, straightening up.

Mirono pulled him into his room and closed the door. “First, for spirits’ sake, stop looking so shifty when you lie. Just maintain eye contact and say what you have to say with confidence. Secondly, take a change of clothes with you and come back smelling less like fire. Please.”

“I really did pick wildberry leaves!” bristled Zuko.

“I’m sure you did, kid, but you clearly did something else too. I don’t care who you got in a fight with, the less I know the better. Now get changed and go to the kitchen to help Jiro. Oh, and Shota told me to order you to carry his folders to his place for the weekend, so consider yourself ordered.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mirono opened the door again and left. Hopefully, the boy could learn a bit of subtlety before his next firebending escapade. 

**

Inside, Zuko looked in the shaving mirror above the small sink in the corner and practised lying without shifting his gaze.


	6. Chapter 6

The early morning light struggled to make its way through the autumn clouds. Shota nodded to Taiyo as he was coming off the night shift. He shifted his bag and checked Zuko was still behind him. 

He was not. Instead, he was watching the mother turtleduck waddle in front of him, followed by the turtleducklings. He breathed a sigh of relief and continued.

“There’s still ten of them,” he said, his voice low. 

“We have to get going to catch the carriage to Fire Fountain City. The next one won’t be for half a day.”

The kid picked up the pace, determined to walk uncomfortably fast until Shota was panting to follow. 

“Okay, not so fast, we still have time,” he wheezed. 

“Give me your bag, I can carry it and then you can walk faster.”

“I can manage,” Shota grumbled. Zuko slowed down a little to match his pace. 

“I have something for Yao,” said Zuko. “It’s nothing, really. But you said he liked moose-lions, so I tried to draw one. It’s not great, but I think you can kind of tell what it is.”

“I’m sure he’ll like it. Besides, even if it’s bad, if you’re ever Fire Lord, I’m sure it’d sell for a lot.”

Zuko nodded, it was a sound financial decision worthy of an accountant. He didn’t know when the _when_ had become an _if_ , but somewhere along the way, even he had given up on really expecting to go back. 

They boarded the carriage along with around twenty other locals all travelling along the Han Plains to their hometowns or on business. Shota wondered if the ex-prince had ever travelled like this before. The wheels trundled noisily, and every bump and pothole could be felt. The woman to the left of them offered the kid a bag of cold fire flakes. Zuko shook his head. 

“My wife, Satsuki, is making daifuku for you,” said Shota.

The wide smile helped lighten the kid’s expression. The scar had softened over time but had left a permanent glare across half his face.

“They’re my favourite.”

“I know, kid. Everyone knows.”

“Do you know what flavour she’s making?”

“I don’t know, maybe strawberry? Maybe matcha?”

“And how does she make it? Red bean paste or white bean paste?”

Shota leaned back and closed his eyes. “I don’t know, kid. Save the questions for her.”

Zuko clamped his mouth shut, looking embarrassed. The rest of the ride passed in silence.

**

“Just make yourself at home,” said Shota as he took the folders from Zuko.

Zuko looked around the living room. It felt cramped, with a battered futon and a large table taking up most of the space. Dusty ornaments hung from the walls, alongside pictures and drawings. Some were quite pretty, others less so. 

Yao was sitting in the corner, stirring a wooden spoon in an empty metal bucket. 

Zuko hovered near him. 

“Uh, what are you making? Are you cooking something?” asked Zuko.

“No. Just a potion to raise the dead,” he said solemnly.

“Okay then.” Zuko sat cross-legged beside him. The kid proceeded to sprinkle some imaginary powder into the bucket. “Who are you raising?”

“Toto.” Seeing the look of confusion on Zuko’s face, he continued, “My pet rabbit-dog. Mama says he’s on a farm somewhere, but I know he’s dead. So, I’m bringing him back. And also maybe I’ll raise the Death Spirit. We’ll see,” the kid shrugged.

Zuko didn’t really know what to say to that, so he settled for watching the boy mix fake powders and then start to build an imaginary fire.

“We need a flame to activate the potion. Or else it won’t work. So here’s the flame,” Yao explained.

“You can have a real flame if you want,” said Zuko, bringing his palms together to cradle the gentle flame he had recently discovered. 

The kid excitedly started to pour his non-existent mixture over the fire. “Now we have to say a prayer,” he said. He closed his eyes and began to chant made up words. 

Zuko smiled at the boy and let the affection he felt grow the flame in his hands. 

“Wow, it’s big now!” he yelled, peeking out of one eye. “Do you think the spell will work?”

“No,” said Zuko.

“Hmm, neither did I.” Yao nodded wisely and seemed to move on quickly. “Do you want to draw?”

“I have something for you,” said Zuko. He brought over the picture and gave it to him. “Here you go. If you don’t like it, maybe you can sell it later.”

“Thank you! I love moose-lions!” He took the picture and ran to the wall on the opposite end of the room. “I’m going to put it with my best pictures.”

He pinned it between an abstract mass of oranges and yellows, and a painting that looked vaguely like a house.

“It’s a good picture, Zuko.” Shota was standing in the doorway. “Daifuku, anyone?”

“They’re not poisoned, are they? Let me guess, you brought me here to end me on the Fire Lord’s orders,” Zuko said with a grin. Shota didn’t smile back. Panic bubbled up within him, “Wait, you didn’t, did you?”

Shota sat down and handed the plate over. “Eat.”

Zuko hesitated.

“Yao, can you please play in the other room for a bit? Zuko is a big fan of your drawings, maybe you can make one for him?” Yao ambled away, happy to oblige. Shota turned back to Zuko and dropped his voice low, “Kid, this does not leave this room. What happened to you was wrong. I’m not saying there weren’t reasons, well, excuses, for the actions taken that day and the days following, but it was still wrong. And while the Fire Lord knows what’s best for the nation, what he deems best for the nation may not always be the best for _you._ I want you to be careful. I’m not going to hurt you and I think you can trust the rest of the staff. But please, as much as it hurts, try to understand. I look at Yao and I-I could never do _that_ to him.”

“You don’t understand,” Zuko could hear the desperation seeping into his voice. “He _had to_. He’s a leader, he cannot be disrespected by his advisors.”

“He’s a _father_. Do you think I could hurt Yao to teach others a lesson, even if I was Fire Lord?”

“That’s different, you love him,” he blurted out. 

They sat in silence for a second.

“That was stupid, I don’t mean that. He loves me. The Fire Lord loves all his people.”

“He loves all his people, but some people become inconvenient to keep around. Kid, all I’m saying is just keep your head down and stay out of his way. Don’t take food from strangers, don’t follow anyone into dark alleyways, just generally stay in sight. And in broad daylight. Also, quit trying to be the one to serve him and getting his attention. His attention might not be the best for you. Anyway, this conversation never happened.” His tone lightened, “Try the daifuku and tell me what you think.”

Zuko raised one eyebrow.

“The daifuku is safe, unless Satsuki really messed up the recipe.”

Zuko took a bite and let the sweet bean paste mingle with the mochi in his mouth. He let out a small groan. “It’s incredible. Thank you so much.”

“You can ask Satsuki all the questions you have about making them. She’d be happy to answer them.”

Zuko went to the kitchen and tried to push the earlier conversation out of his mind.

He hesitated as he watched Satsuki pour boiling water into a teapot. Maybe Shota was just saying that to be polite? Surely, he shouldn’t be bothering her with his questions when she was busy. Jiro would just tell him a blunt ‘go away’ (and he would stomp off. But Jiro always came and found him later and answered the questions. After all, ‘taking time to train staff is an investment that pays itself back ten-fold’ Jiro would say with the air of someone who had suffered greatly from incompetent staff). But Satsuki might humour him, what with him being the ex-Crown Prince and all--

“You have questions about daifuku?”

“Uh, yes. Yes ma’am.”

She smiled at him. “Shota told me you did. He’s sorry for his grumpiness earlier. He’s not the most fun person to be around early in the morning.”

Zuko gave a small grin in return. He had watched Shota snap often enough at Ninko in the early hours of dawn to know that. 

They chatted about daifuku and Zuko helped make the dim sum. It was different cooking here, with no pressure to be done quickly and no Jiro or Kyong to correct every error. And besides, compared to Satsuki’s folding, Zuko’s looked like art. Once they were ready, they carried them over to the main table on the floor and sat to eat.

Zuko realised he hadn’t eaten anything but some daifuku since the previous evening. He found himself making up for that and more.

“Uncle said your dim sum is excellent and I see what he meant,” he said between bites. 

“A compliment from the Dragon of the West? I’ll take that,” Satsuki grinned. Her smile seemed to never leave her face.

Zuko picked up another piece of shumai, before putting it down. “I should stop here.” 

He continued to stare at the dumpling.

“Stop if you’re full or you’ve had enough. But if you want more, Zuko, it’s fine to have more. Eating is one of life’s greatest pleasures, kid,” Shota said, picking up another chicken-pork dumpling.

Zuko thought about this for a second. He took the shumai.

They passed the time chatting about comings and goings in the palace.

“The ambassadors from the colonies are coming in a fortnight’s time,” said Zuko. “I think Jiro is planning something extravagant, a ten course meal based on five regions in the Fire Nation and five of the Earth Kingdom colonies.”

“Yes, I expect that will take a bite out of the palace budget. Ah well, plenty more where that came from.” Shota’s smile was bitter.

“Er, where does it come from?”

“From taxes, of course.” He picked up the tea and took a sip.

“Yeah, of course, of course,” Zuko tried to nod wisely, then stopped when he realised he’d been nodding too much. “Is tax a lot?”

“It is… reasonable,” said Shota, measuredly.

Zuko quirked a brow.

“It’s high. Twenty gold pieces for every citizen of the nation. Many struggle to cover it, especially when the harvests are poor. But that is what you pay when your country is at war.”

“So, Fire Nation citizens pay for the war?” 

“Surely you know this already?”

“I-I’ve not thought about it,” Zuko shrugged. “I just thought tax money paid for schools to be built and roads and stuff.”

“And then who would pay for the war effort?” asked Shota.

“I don’t know, nobles or the Fire Lord or someone! Someone in charge!” he cried. “So, what? People are expected to both volunteer their children for the army and then also fund this war?”

“The privilege of living in the best nation in the world. You pay a toll to keep it that way.” That bitter smile was back. “Don’t worry, Earth Kingdomers living in the colonies pay double.”

Zuko picked up his cup and considered it. He took a sip. A bit bitter, but not too bad.

“I’ve heard we sometimes burn towns?” he asked, slowly. This was a fine line and he knew it. 

“There’s a price for not paying your dues.”

“So it’s true?” 

“I’m sure the colonies are happy places learning the enlightened ways of our glorious nation,” said Shota, impassive. Satsuki gave him _a look_ , which he returned. Hastily, he said, “Anyway, let’s talk of something else. It’s Ninko’s birthday coming up, any ideas for presents?”

Zuko let the topic change to discussions about whether or not gifting Ninko a tsungi horn would make living with him more or less pleasant.

**

They got back to the palace two days later. 

“Did you even need your folders on this trip?” asked Zuko, doing a couple of bicep curls with said folders before putting them down on Shota’s bedside table.

“It was crucial they be carried there and back,” Shota replied. “Did you have fun?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he went over to his bed and put up the latest picture from Yao next to the one he’d made for his birthday over a year ago.

Looking at the two pictures side by side, one a mass of blues and violets, the other a vague painting of a tree, he said, “Yeah, I really did.”

**

There was something different about Zuko ever since he came back from his trip to Shota’s home. General Iroh looked up from his bowl of soup to watch him stirring the last dregs distractedly.

Is something one your mind, Zuko?”

“Huh?” The spoon clattered into the bowl. “No, uh, just thinking.”

“A problem shared is a problem halved. If you think I could be of assistance, please feel free to share your worries with me.”

Zuko said nothing. He continued to stare down at his bowl.

“You know, I’ve heard this is the perfect season for picking ginseng,” he changed the topic cheerily.

He put the spoon down abruptly. “Uncle, you know how I’m supposed to be working on getting back to being a prince again?” Zuko glanced behind him at the closed door and dropped to a whisper, “How wrong would be it be if I didn’t want to?”

Iroh leaned back. He tried to keep his voice level. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it feels wrong. This punishment should make me unhappy, and I was for a long time. But now- now I don’t mind it. I’m not _unhappy_. Sure, the work is hard and- and Azula is a bit of a pain. But, the people, Uncle, the people are kind. They like me. Or at least, they don’t hate me.” Zuko sat back and dragged a palm down his face. “What’s wrong with me? I should feel shame at thinking of being a palace servant forever. But- but I _don’t_.” He looked up at Iroh, his eyes desperate. “Where’s my pride, Uncle?”

“Pride and shame often go hand in hand, nephew. Only true humility is the antidote to shame,” said Iroh. He moved around and put an arm around his nephew. The boy curled into his touch. “It makes me happy to see you’ve let go of your pride and your shame, Zuko.”

The kid stayed leaning into the crook of his arm for a few seconds, then pushed away. He hid a quiet sniff in his sleeve and busied himself with gathering the bowls off the low table and setting out cups in their place. Iroh watched as Zuko diligently heated the teapot between his palms.

“Did you really mean that, Uncle?” he asked, staring at his hands.

“Of course. Early fall has always been the best time for harvesting ginseng,” Iroh replied.

**

The autumn heat tugged at his eyelids as General Nin continued to explain the difficulties in maintaining supply chains near Pohuai. General Iroh’s gaze fell on the ceremonial swords hanging on the dark red walls of the war chamber.

He thought for a while, weighing up the risks and benefits. He thought for a while longer.

Later that afternoon, he sat down to write a letter.


	7. Chapter 7

There was a cat in the palace.

No one was quite sure when she had arrived, just that one day she was there.

The cat was orange with brown patches. She had no collar but seemed to walk around like she owned the palace. No one was quite sure where she slept either, just that she was there again by the next morning.

“We should give it a name,” said Ninko, scratching it behind the ears. He turned to look at the other staff lounging in the mess hall. Itachi and Yuna were frowning at their cards, mostly ignoring him. Shota shrugged in his general direction, seemingly out of ideas. Zuko lay sprawled across the battered futon, lost in his book.

“How about Mouldy Orange?” tried Ninko.

“No,” Shota and Zuko said simultaneously.

Zuko closed the book and sat up. “What about Fire Flake?”

“Fire flakes are redder. The cat kind of looks like a mouldy orange when curled up.”

Shota grunted. “Still a stupid name for a cat.”

The cat uncurled from Ninko’s lap and wandered over to Shota, as if approving of his view. Shota gave her a couple of cursory pats. Realising there was not much affection to be had there, she wandered over to Zuko. Zuko took her into his arms and held her awkwardly as she dropped down onto her belly with a soft thump.

“Phoenix?” said Zuko.

Ninko shrugged. “Maybe Ginger?”

Zuko made a non-committal noise. “Sweet potato?”

“Are you trying to offend her?”

They went back and forth for a while. Zuko was being annoying, rejecting perfectly good names and suggesting stupid ones in return.

Slowly, the cat began to purr.

“Are you… are you heating her?” asked Ninko, frowning.

Zuko looked guilty.

“Not fair! We can’t all firebend like you, now you’ll be her favourite,” Ninko could hear the whine in his voice.

“I can’t help it,” Zuko shrugged.

“Well, then I get to feed the cat.”

The Cat’s head bobbed up. She jumped down off Zuko’s lap and paced over to Ninko, eagerly nuzzling his leg.

“Wow, no loyalty _whatsoever_ ,” moaned Zuko, crossing his arms.

Ninko looked down and grinned. Good Cat. Smart Cat.

**

Zuko finished another set of katas and collapsed onto the ground, sweaty and exhausted. He was grateful for the late autumn wind. 

They had been training under the guise of tea-picking for half a year now.

(Well, it wasn’t entirely a guise. They did pick tea. Mostly wildberry leaves, once he’d confirmed with Yuna what they should look like.)

(Except Uncle didn’t seem to really drink much wildberry tea.)

Uncle looked at him with a gleam in his eye. “Next time, Zuko, I would like you to bring your dual dao.”

Zuko squinted, confused. “Why? They’re in my—in my old room.”

“I’m sure for someone as resourceful as you, that will be no problem.” Uncle stood and brushed himself down. “Shall we pick some tea?”

Zuko shrugged and they began. 

*

It was getting late and dinner had finished. The Cat bounded down the stairs and Mirono absentmindedly shooed it away before any of the royal family saw it. Zuko followed it down the stairs, looking lost in thought. He bumped straight into Mirono and continued on, throwing a quick apology over his shoulder. 

At least he didn’t smell like smoke this time. 

*

Yuna closed the door behind her and let out her breath. Azula was always a difficult patient. She rarely showed how much anything hurt. Rather, Yuna had to judge it from the harshness of her remarks. 

They’d got to threats of being burnt at the stake today. No surprise given one of the bones in her forearm had snapped cleanly in two.

She paused outside the royal chambers. Did some of the shadows look _redder_ than the other shadows? She looked down and the point where the darkness seemed a little different and saw the sliver of a boot. 

A familiar boot. Sturdy. Given as a gift nearly two years ago and looked after by a kid with the utmost rigour. 

The end of the shoe disappeared into the darkness.

Why was Zuko hiding?

She quietly walked to the other end of the hall and stood beyond the corner, curious.

(Nosy, her mother would say. But she preferred to describe herself as _easily intrigued_.)

Minutes passed. Then, the almost indiscernible jingle of keys knocking against keys. 

The door clicked open, a few seconds passed, then clicked shut again.

She heard footsteps coming down her side of the corridor. She spun to find Itachi coming down the corridor. Quickly, Yuna gestured for him to be quiet.

“What’s up?” whispered Itachi, huddling into the corner and stepping on her foot.

“Ow. It’s Zuko, he’s going into his old room. I think he’s trying to be sneaky so just turn around and take the long way past this corridor?”

“Say no more, I don’t want to be complicit,” said Itachi, turning around to go.

Before he could leave, the door opened again, and a dark red shadow snuck back out. Yuna pulled Itachi back into the corner and they stayed still. The kid seemed to have swords at his back and something in his arms.

A wobble, and a scroll hit the floor, along with a muffled “shit”. Zuko slowly tried to kneel to get it, only to find two more scrolls escaped his overloaded arms and rolled away.

Yuna bit her lip to hold in a snort. She stepped out of the corner and Itachi followed.

Zuko spun around, dropped all the scrolls, and pulled out two swords in a flash.

“Easy tiger,” whispered Yuna. “Just us.”

Zuko sheathed the swords. “I—I know this looks—”

“No need to explain, haven’t seen a thing,” said Yuna. She knelt and picked up some scrolls. “Plays?”

Zuko nodded.

“I’ll take these to your room. Whose keys are they?

“Mirono’s.”

“You have a plan for returning them?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Itachi, you reckon you could say you found them on the floor on your rounds?”

“Sure.” He pocketed the keys and started off down the corridor.

Yuna and Zuko took the scrolls over to the servant’s quarters, but Zuko walked on into the garden.

“The door squeaks, he said with a shrug before hoisting himself into his room through the window. He wriggled through, then took the remaining scrolls from Yuna.

“Thanks,” he whispered down from the window.

Yuna shrugged, “It’s what friends are for.”

**

“You found them?” asked Mirono. He could hear the tiredness seeping into his voice.

“Yessir.”

“On the corridor outside my office?”

“Yessir.”

“Strange. I thought I’d searched there.”

“You must have missed it.”

Mirono pressed his temples and bit back a yawn. Somewhere in his exhausted mind, he had a feeling this had something to do with a young ex-prince who may or may not have bumped into him and not fumbled about bowing repeatedly as he usually did.

“Okay, thanks Itachi.”

**

The next day, Yuna and Zuko found themselves spending an afternoon producing inverted sugar for the royal kitchens. Yuna leaned against the worktop and watched as Zuko closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping the syrup on a rolling boil.

“Why scrolls?” she asked, quietly.

“They were my mother’s. I saw them and didn’t want to leave them.”

“Why swords?”

Zuko shrugged. “It’s something I’m okay at. I’m hoping to get some practice.” His eyes opened. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?” asked Yuna. Zuko looked confused for a moment, before flashing a small grin. “Kid, I know you think you have to do everything alone, but, you know, you can just ask for help. And you’ll get it.”

Zuko nodded. “Thank you.”

**

Zuko stared in dismay at his wardrobe. With reluctance, he pulled out the fluffy winter coat Uncle Iroh had gifted him two winters ago and pulled it over the swords slung on his back. The set up felt lumpy and awkward, but at least the swords were covered.

Spirits, he was sweating already.

“Ready?” Uncle asked when he stepped out of the room.

“I guess.”

**

Fire Lord Ozai looked out of the large bay window in this room. Iroh was walking out of the palace gates, followed by Zuko.

Zuko, who used to hang around him at events like a persistent mosquito-fly, but nowadays could barely be seen.

Zuko, who was in a thick, distinctly lumpy coat in what was practically balmy autumn weather.

Ozai raised his brows.

Something was wrong.

He continued to watch as the two figures walked off down the road. Iroh was loyal. He would never betray him directly. But in that sneaky, indirect way of his? Ozai was not so sure.

**

Mirono entered the Fire Lord’s private chambers with trepidation. He was used to being summoned by the Fire Lord, but rarely to his bedroom.

The Fire Lord shut the door behind him. “This conversation is to stay between us.”

“Yes sir.”

Fire Lord Ozai opened his palm and conjured a fireball that danced menacingly in his hand. Mirono watched it with caution.

“How is Zuko?”

“Wh-what, my lord?” asked Mirono, distracted.

“I said,” the ball grew bigger, “how is my son? What does he usually do? I have not seen him serving dinner in a while.”

“He mostly works in the kitchens and gardens. Sometimes he helps to produce medications for the royal apothecaries.”

“Does he behave?”

“Yes, sir. The Prince—"

“He is not a prince, Mirono.” The Fire Lord’s voice cut through, cold.

“I’m sorry, sir. The boy is helpful and follows orders.”

He tried not to think of the stolen keys or the secret firebending.

“And what do the General and Zuko do when they leave together?”

Mirono felt his breath catch. He shifted his gaze to just past the Fire Lord’s ear to a small stain on the wall and forced himself to speak, “They collect tea, sir.”

(It’s technically true. _Technically._ )

He continued to stare hard at the wall, tracing the fine gold vines sprawling across the surface with his eyes.

(Please, Agni, don’t let the boy didn’t come back smelling like smoke.)

The Fire Lord put out the flame. “I see.” He walked around the room and looked out of the window. “Tell me, is Zuko loyal?”

“To a fault, sir.”

“To whom?”

Mirono broke his gaze, confused. “Sorry?”

“To whom is he loyal?”

Mirono thought before answering. “He is loyal to the Fire Nation, sir. And its people.”

“Hmm. Of course.”

With a wave, the Fire Lord dismissed him. Mirono walked out, closed the door, and started to run.

**

They climbed up the hill to the plateau to find a familiar face waiting for them.

“Master Piandao!” cried Zuko, running over.

“It is good to see you again, Zuko,” Piandao said. “You’ve brought your swords?”

Zuko pulled out the swords. “Yeah, but they’ve not been maintained for the past couple of years.”

“Well, good thing I brought along a whetstone. You have your first task before we can begin practicing.”

Zuko took off his coat and the swords underneath. He sat down happily and began to sharpen the blades.

**

The afternoon passed quickly. Zuko couldn’t recall many of the finer points of his earlier training but picking up the swords had felt like coming home. His instincts guided him through the movements and soon enough, he was sparring.

Zuko focussed on the blade to his right, once again missing the blade coming from the left. The flat of the sword touched his ear gently.

“Your blind spot on your left is much larger now. You need to always be checking directly for attacks,” Piandao did not mince words. Zuko felt the familiar wriggle of embarrassment, before steeling his shoulders and nodding.

They fought until the shadows started to grow long and Iroh suggested they stop for the day.

“What do I do about the dual dao?” he asked Uncle and Master Piandao, pulling out his change of clothes.

“I can store them,” said Piandao. “And I’ll see you back here in a week’s time?”

Zuko nodded. “Thank you, Master Piandao.”

**

“The Fire Lord wishes to see you,” said Itachi.

“Why?” asked Zuko.

“He didn’t say why. He just said he wanted you brought in as soon as you arrived. General Iroh too.”

Uncle looked at him and blinked twice. _Stay calm,_ his eyes seemed to say. They let themselves be escorted to the Fire Lord’s council chamber.

**

Yuna came back into the castle through a side gate. She nodded to the guards and went straight to her room.

Mirono came by her room. He stepped in and shut the door.

“It’s done?” he whispered.

“Yeah, I met them on the main road. Pretty sure I got out everything,” she replied, opening her satchel to show a bundle of dusty red clothes. “They returned by the main path and I took a detour. Like you said.”

“What did he smell like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Did he smell like smoke?”

“No, just like dirt.”

Mirono let out a sigh.

**

Fire Lord Ozai looked down at the boy bowing before him.

He looked ridiculous in that lumpy coat, surrounded by flames.

“Where have you been?”

“Zuko has been with me—” Iroh started to say.

“I’m sorry General Iroh, but I asked Zuko.” Ozai kept his voice calm, even.

The boy straightened up and seemed to look through him. “I’ve been picking tea leaves, Fire Lord,” his voice barely wavered.

“In a thick winter coat?”

“I have a bit of a cold, Fire Lord.” His gaze remained steady.

“Remove it.”

The boy complied. Underneath the coat was a rucksack.

“Open the bag.”

Zuko opened the rucksack and showed him the leaves inside.

He signalled to the guards behind him. “Search it.”

Two of them came forward, taking the bag from his hands almost hesitantly, apologetically.

They emptied it onto the floor. Leaves spilled out.

Ozai leaned back, disappointed.

“Clean up the mess and get out of this room.”

The boy nodded. He dropped to the floor and gathered the leaves.

Weak. That was the only way to describe the child in front of him.

Thank Agni for his daughter.

**

Zuko took Cat onto his lap and stroked her with trembling fingers.

“He knows,” he whispered. “I don’t know how, but he _knows_.”

Cat meowed at him. She had a quizzical look on her face.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he called.

Uncle stepped in and sat by him on the bed.

“Zuko, I cannot stay long,” he said urgently.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m allergic to cats,” he said, with a sniffle.

Zuko stood up and tried to shake off Cat, who clung to his tunic. After some tugging, Zuko dislodged her and put her out of the window.

Uncle Iroh settled down and wiped at his eyes. “I came to tell you that I think we should pick tea less often. Twice a week is a little too much for Mirono to justify if asked. However, I’ve heard the royal hearths are often in need of firewood and if you were to go to pick firewood say once a week, I’m sure our chief of staff would not mind.”

“But we buy our firewood in bulk?”

Uncle gave him a pointed look.

_Oh._

“Yes Uncle,” said Zuko.

Uncle nodded once and left.

**

Autumn turned to winter. Zuko felt a cold wind blow past the sensitive edges of the scar as he released the hawk carrying the letter for Uncle.

The bird flew away with an uncomfortable squawk.

(Zuko regretted not opening it.)

(Uncle had said it was urgent, that he trusted him with it.)

(But he knew that letter held answers.)

(The whole palace seemed to be thrumming with a dangerous energy and yet no one would tell him _anything._ )

Zuko took the long route back to his room, crossing the closed doors of the war chamber. He paused and looked around. It wasn’t _eavesdropping_ if he could just hear it without trying, was it? He stood still and listened to the snippets of conversation drifting out.

“Airbender, did you say? Surely not?”

“…seen near the South Pole… probably a waterbender.”

“…either way, he must be killed at once!”

“No… back alive. Otherwise the issue will continue to rise…”

There was a scraping of a chair. Zuko hurried forward towards the kitchens.

**

It was late in the evening when Zuko came back into his room to grab a sweater against the night-time chill. He wanted to get back before Yuna cheated and looked at his hand of cards. With a flick of the wrist, he lit the candles in the room and went straight to the wardrobe.

“Nice parlour trick,” said Azula. Zuko spun around to see her sitting on his bed, looking around distastefully. “So, this is what happens when you fall from grace?”

“Azula! Why are you here?”

“Just wanted to come and see my older brother,” she said, casually. “Please tell me you didn’t make this?” She pointed to the drawing Yao had made for him on his first day at Shota’s house.

“It’s from a kid. I like it.” Zuko crossed his arms and glared. “What do you want, Azula?”

“I’m guessing you’ve heard there have been sightings of the Avatar?” Azula seemed to see the look of confusion on his face. She laughed, “Oh, Zuzu, isn’t that what all servants do? Gossip?”

“It can’t be true. The Avatar is just a—just a spirit tale.”

“Well, I guess I’ll get to see first-hand,” she said with a smirk. “I’m going away for a while. Father has given me the task of capturing him.”

Zuko’s eyebrows rose.

Azula was only fourteen. How could she capture a powerful bender of all four elements?

She must be lying.

Then he thought of his baby sister setting their nanny’s hair on fire because she hadn’t picked her up fast enough. Her speeding through firebending lessons as Zuko fumbled over basic forms. The lighting that shot from her fingers with ease.

Azula had always been the gifted one.

“I—I hope it goes well?” Zuko shrugged.

“Me too,” Azula stood up and looked around, “Now that I’ve seen what happens if it doesn’t.”


	8. Chapter 8

In the end, it only took until early spring for the Avatar and his two Water Tribe companions to be brought in on chains.

Zuko had been gathering firewood following training with Master Piandao when he saw the first fireworks rising over the outskirts of the city from his vantage point on the hill. He stuffed the dry twigs and branches into his bag and started to make his way down slowly, bouncing to stretch occasionally.

(He was pretty sure he’d pulled something in the groin area during that last fight when he’d done that semi-split – which Piandao had said was a foolish idea but Zuko was still pretty sure had looked kind of cool – but people didn’t just _pull things_ when collecting firewood so he was going to need to ice it subtly without raising any questions.)

There was a large crowd gathered along the main road to the palace. He watched as some people cheered and hooted, while others seemed to be shielding the eyes of their children. He jostled his way to the front of the crowd and looked to the parade. Azula led the procession, smiling and waving. Zuko first felt some relief to see his sister had survived. Behind her, three drugged children were being dragged by armed soldiers.

The relief evaporated. His stomach curled in revulsion.

**

“Kid, so help me Agni, if you burn another loaf of bread, I’ll ban you from the kitchen,” Jiro’s voice boomed behind him.

Zuko looked down at his shaking hands and the burnt dough. His shoulders slumped.

(They were kids.)

(What does it matter, it’s the Avatar.)

(They’re _kids._ )

“If it’s okay, I—I might go,” he said quietly.

“Sure, take some time,” said Jiro, softer this time. “Maybe—maybe go pick some tea leaves?”

Spirits, even Jiro knew what _picking tea leaves_ meant.

“I’m fine,” Zuko growled. Then he softened, “Sorry about the bread, I—I just need a bit of a---”

“Break?”

“No! Not a break, just-just some time.”

With that Zuko left the kitchen, walked across the courtyard and into his room in the servants’ quarters. He shut the door a little harder than strictly necessary behind him.

His sister had succeeded in capturing the Avatar, a potential threat to the peace. There were fireworks being released in broad daylight on the streets.

He was happy. He really was.

Except somehow it just looked _wrong_ , the way those three kids had been dragged in, stumbling over the chains, barely conscious.

That couldn’t be what victory looked like.

He grunted and shot out a jet of fire, before cursing and quickly putting out the curtain he’d set alight. Looking around, he dropped to the floor, trying to do some push ups as an outlet for the anger, the confusion.

He’d got up to eleven when he realised something was wrong. He dropped to his belly and peered under his bed.

The theatre scrolls were gone.

**

The Fire Lord inspected the cells. Thick metal bars, multiple locks. Secure. Not that he’d had any doubt.

He looked at the three prone bodies, one in each cell.

He nodded to Mirono, “Tell me, did you conduct the search like I told you to?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And? Did you find anything?”

“Er, yes, but nothing dangerous” His chief of staff spoke hurriedly, avoiding looking directly at him. He handed him a couple of rolls of parchment, “Just some theatre scrolls. Completely harmless, I assure y---”

“I do not need you to defend him,” Ozai cut him off as he took the scrolls. They looked vaguely familiar, conjuring up memories of a beautiful woman who had never really been his. He squeezed the paper in his fist. “My orders were clear. The boy was to be cut off from all luxuries of his former life. This,” he said, shaking the scroll in Mirono’s face, “is in violation the terms of his punishment. Where would he be now?”

“Either in the mess hall or his room, I expect, sir. Forgive me, sir, but it’s just some plays….”

The Fire Lord strode away before the chief of staff could finish his sentence. He came up from the basement to the servants’ quarters and asked which room belonged to Zuko. A young woman with a little too much defiance in her stance pointed towards a door.

“That one, sir.” Her tone was respectful, measured. Yet somehow, Ozai felt insulted.

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Yuna, sir.”

She continued to stare just past his ear.

(What was it with the staff and staring somewhere behind him?)

“And what do you do?”

“Odd jobs, but mostly mixing solutions and tinctures for the royal apothecaries. Sir.”

Ozai’s lip curled in disappointment. She would be too useful in the coming weeks to banish. He dismissed her with a wave of the hand and went to the room.

Upon entering, he found Zuko arguing with one of the boys who worked in the gardens.

“If this is a joke—"

“I swear on my dead grandad’s life, Zuko, I don’t know where the scrolls are!”

The words petered out as the two inhabitants took in their new guest. Both dropped quickly into low bows.

“You,” Ozai said, pointing at the gardener, “out.”

Once alone, Fire Lord Ozai reached into his robe and pulled out a theatre scroll. “Looking for this?”

“I---I can explain,” the boy stammered.

“Do.”

Zuko crossed his arms and seemed to think. After a while, he said, “Well, I can’t. But I thought this would be harmless! I can put them back.”

“It’s too late,” Ozai spoke calmly, watching the fear mount in his son’s eyes. “You understand that by having this, you’ve broken the terms of your punishment?”

The kid said nothing.

“Really, I would say there’s no way you can ever reclaim your title now.”

That… did not have the intended effect.

(Was that _relief_ on his face?)

Quickly, he continued, “But I will give you one other opportunity. I’m sure you’ve seen that the Avatar and some Water Tribe savages have been brought in by Azula. Prove you can follow orders by guarding them. Do it well and you will be restored to Crown Prince.”

Zuko looked at him, confused. “I—I just have to guard them?”

“Yes, the day shift. And, every evening, you will report a summary of their discussions to me.”

“For how long?”

“I expect only a few weeks or so. Until I can find a more permanent solution to the Avatar problem.”

“Like negotiating some kind of treaty?” The boy sounded uncertain, hopeful.

What was one more lie to a stupid child who was never strong enough for war?

“Yes, like negotiating a treaty.”

**

Zuko stood at the door after the Fire Lord had left, trying to process what had just happened.

It was too good to be true. It had to be.

He went to the sink and splashed water on his face until it was numb. Face wet, he let the tears sneak out.

**

Sokka opened his eyes blearily and looked around the prison cell. Cold, grey walls. A small metal bed. A bucket in the corner. How original.

“This gets a two out of ten from me,” he shouted at the darkness beyond the bars. “Terrible hospitality, would not recommend!”

“Shut up,” came the growl from around the corner. That was probably the guard. Either that or Katara’s voice had dropped a couple of octaves.

“The staff are _rude_ ,” Sokka continued. He inspected the bed, “Hey, do I get a blanket?”

“Sokka?” Aang’s voice called out from a cell nearby.

“Aang! I’m here!”

Okay. He was starting to feel a bit better. If Aang was nearby, they would escape in about, oh, sixty seconds.

There was a rustle of chains.

“Aang?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you chained up?”

“Yeah,” a pause, “You’re not?”

“No fair!” yelled Sokka. “How come I’m not chained up? I’m dangerous too!”

“That can be arranged.” The growl again.

“Excuse me, this is a _private_ conversation,” huffed Sokka.

A face came into view. Angry, sneering. Sokka paled as he took in the huge scar.

“Maybe try not _yelling_ it across the hall!”

“Well, if you let me out and take me to his cell, I promise to whisper.”

The young man (maybe kid? He didn’t look much older than Sokka) glared harder. “I said _shut up_!”

The kid stalked away.

While the situation was clearly 98% shit, Sokka was pretty sure there was 2% fun to be had.

**

Zuko closed his eyes and leaned against the cold stone wall.

There had been silence for a while, which had been nice.

“Katara? Are you up yet?” The older boy called out. “You guys better not have hurt my little sister!”

“She’s still asleep,” Zuko called out, taking pity in the rising panic in the boy’s voice.

(He understood the sentiment of wanting to protect younger sisters. Even if his _really_ didn’t need protecting.)

“Okay, well, when she wakes up, she’s going to kick your ass!” He paused, then said, “She’s the most powerful waterbender in the Southern Water Tribe.”

Zuko didn’t reply. This was probably the sort of information the Fire Lord wanted.

“Let me tell you, this is not the first scrape we have found ourselves in, and likely not the last,” he continued. “Man, you’re stupid if you think you can keep us in here for long.”

“Not stupid enough to get captured by a fourteen year old,” Zuko muttered. Loudly.

“Hey!” said the boy, outraged. “A very _sneaky_ and _manipulative_ fourteen year old!”

“Still fourteen. How old are you, anyway?”

“I’m not giving away secrets to the enemy.”

“Right, thirteen, got it.”

“Wh—no! I’m fifteen! I have a beard!”

Zuko stalked over and stared at the boy’s face. There were three wiry black hairs growing out of the apex of his chin. This was more than Zuko had, so he begrudgingly gave him that.

“And how old are you? Sixteen?”

“Nearly sixteen and a half.”

“So, sixteen. That’s a bit young to be working as a guard.”

“I—uh, it’s a long story. It doesn’t matter.”

The boy shrugged and dropped the topic.

“When do we get food?” The fifteen year old asked after a while.

Zuko shrugged.

“What do you guys eat?” he tried again.

“Children. Oh no, wait, that’s the Water Tribe,” Zuko sneered.

The boy was unperturbed. “Gotta say, the legs are the tastiest part.”

“Wait, what? You—you actually do?”

Zuko made a mental note to tell Ninko.

“Yup. Roast ‘em.”

“That’s barbaric! What the f-”

The Water Tribe boy looked incredulous. “No, of course we don’t, you dunderhead! You really think we’re here eating babies?”

“I don’t know, that’s just what we hear as kids!”

“What a fine education system you have!”

They continued to bicker until the door to the basement swung open.

**

Yuna rubbed sleep out of her eyes. The tiredness ran deeper though, soaking into her bones. She was standing in the kitchen, holding a stoppered vial delicately.

She didn’t like this.

She just wasn’t sure what choice she had.

Bending-reduction solutions had been developed a long time ago as a way to stop injured firebenders from hurting themselves when in severe pain. They worked by relaxing muscles and calming the body’s chi to a point where bending couldn’t be mustered, but most other bodily functions could continue.

Chief Apothecary Khar had instructed her to make a more potent version for their latest guests. One that worked for days rather than hours. An urgent request from the Fire Lord, he’d said.

She’d worked all night on the product, slowly concentrating known bending reduction solutions and adding stabilisers.

She walked over to Kyong’s counter and put the vial down on its side next to the three bowls of vegetable soup. “Five drops in something liquid should be enough for three days. Six to be on the safe side,” she said.

“They’re kids, I don’t think they’ll need much,” replied Kyong.

Yuna’s stomach roiled.

She hung around, watching as Kyong added the drops of bending relaxant and stirred them in.

“Can I see them?” asked Yuna, as Kyong picked up a bowl in each hand to take them down to the basement.

Kyong shrugged, “Sure.”

Yuna set off behind her, carrying the last bowl.

Zuko seemed to be arguing with another boy, their shouts echoed up the stone stairs as they descended to the basement. They stepped through the door and immediately the cold and damp surrounded them. Zuko saw them and stalked away from the middle cell to the gate.

“Where am I?” a thin voice called out from the cell farthest away.

“Katara! You’re awake!” This voice was disconcertingly young, coming from the nearest cell. Yuna stepped further into the shadows to see the owner of the voice hanging from the ceiling by chains.

She looked at the tattoos and felt her breath catch. The Avatar was an airbender?

More importantly, when Kyong called them kids, she wasn’t kidding. The Avatar was a literal _child_.

Yuna looked away.

“To answer your question, we’re in the Fire Nation Palace, it’d seem,” another voice, deeper, called out with an exaggerated yawn. “Though I’m sure you’d guessed that from the _warmth_ of their hospitality.”

There was silence.

“Geddit?” The voice prodded again.

“ _Yes_ , yes, I _geddit_ , Sokka,” the girl hissed. “My head hurts.”

Kyong cleared her throat. “I’ve come with food?” she said, uncertain.

“Food?” said the boy in the middle cell, his voice perking up. The kid, Sokka, was tall, probably about Zuko’s age. He was wrapped in a scruffy blue coat.

Kyong pushed the bowls in through the square grid of the cell bars, letting them rest on the floor. Yuna went and put the bowl of soup in her hand on the floor of the airbender’s cell.

“Er, I’m a little _tied up_ at the moment,” the boy said with a grin. He seemed oddly cheery to be in a prison cell.

“Oh yeah, of course,” Yuna fumbled, looking around. Zuko came over from near the gate with a key. He entered the cell and untied him. The Avatar immediately jumped away and pushed towards Zuko, hands splayed wide in front of him.

The air gently whistled around them, creating a slight breeze that smelled of mildew.

He tried again, stomping and pushing at the air.

“I don’t think your bending will work here,” said Yuna.

“You have an hour to eat, then I’m tying you back up,” Zuko growled as he left the cell, locking it behind him.

Yuna looked at him. There was something off about the kid. She hadn’t seen him looking this angry in a while. He glared at her.

“What?” he snapped.

“Nothing, just, can we talk?”

He shrugged and followed her out.

“What’s up?” asked Zuko, once they were up the stairs.

“What’s up with you?” Yuna asked back. She dropped to a whisper, “You’re talking about tying that child up like it’s _nothing_.”

“That’s the Avatar. He has to be restrained.”

Yuna rolled her eyes. “That’s a _kid_ , Zuko.”

“Yeah, well, I know you’re giving him something to stop the bending. _You_ don’t seem to care that he’s a kid.” Something must have given away Yuna’s surprise, as Zuko continued, “Of course it’s you! Who else in this palace is a good enough herbalist to be making something that can suppress even the Avatar’s bending?”

“Yeah, okay, but that doesn’t mean I feel good about it!” she hissed.

“Yeah, well, neither do I,” he bit back. “It’s just—just the Fire Lord—” he stopped.

“The Fire Lord what?”

Zuko looked around, evasive.

“What? The Fire Lord told you to be mean to him?”

“No! No, he told me I needed to guard them,” he looked down at his shoes. “That if I did it successfully, I could go back to being Crown Prince.”

Things fell into place.

“He said to guard them, right?” Yuna asked, softer this time, “That doesn’t mean you have to be cruel. Just… just guard them. Make sure they don’t escape.”

Zuko dragged his hands down his face. “You’re right. It’s just—I don’t know what to feel anymore. I don’t know what I want.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know either, but I do know that cruelty doesn’t suit you, Zuko. It’s not who you are.”

They stood in silence for a while. Zuko then stood up and walked back down the stairs without a word.

Yuna was ready to kill the Fire Lord.

**

“Is it always so cold down here?” the girl, Katara asked with a shiver.

Zuko pulled at the sleeves of his thick blue coat at the mention of the cold. Despite his warming breath, the damp chill of the basement dungeons was slowly seeping into his bones.

He felt a twang of pity for the young teen in the thin tunic. Unlike her brother, she didn’t seem to have a coat.

The door swung open and Itachi walked in. Zuko passed the keys and left without a word.

**

Fire Lord Ozai looked up from his desk at the knock at the door. The door opened slowly and Zuko walked in.

“What do you have to report?”

The boy looked around the room, avoiding looking directly at him. After a while, he said, “The boy’s stupid. And annoying. The girl… is the best waterbender in the Southern Water Tribe.”

“There are no benders in the Southern Water Tribe,” the Fire Lord said coldly.

The boy looked at him, confused, but said nothing.

“Anything to report on the Avatar?”

“Not much. The bending solution Yuna made is working. He can’t bend.” He hesitated for a moment, then said, “He seems nice.”

Ozai ignored him.

“I am glad to hear the Avatar cannot bend. If that is all, you are dismissed.”

The boy left with a bow.

**

Around the same time, Mirono stood in front of the Dragon of the West’s private chambers and hesitated to knock. Muffled high-pitched sounds were floating out through the door.

He knocked.

The sounds stopped, and General Iroh came to the door, holding a harmonica.

“Mirono, good to see you! Excuse the noise,” he said cheerily, gesturing him inside. “I do not profess to have talent in this area, but I do enjoy playing.”

“It’s---it’s good?” said Mirono, uncertainly.

“Please, Mirono. I know I sound terrible,” he said with a smile. “But one does not need to be good at things to have fun. I only feel sorry for you for having had to listen to it.” He wrapped the harmonica up delicately and put it away in a box, then turned to face Mirono. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I—er came to tell you that Zuko will not be able to help with any tea picking or firewood collecting for a while. The Fire Lord has requested he be put to guard the Avatar every day.”

General Iroh thought for a while, then said, “Thank you for coming to tell me. I appreciate it. And thank you for the kindness you have shown my nephew over these years.”

Mirono shuffled on his feet, unsure of how to respond. “He’s a good kid,” he said finally.

Iroh nodded, “That he is. When is his shift?”

“He starts around breakfast and ends around dinner. After that, Itachi takes over.”

“Thank you,” the General spoke with warmth. “For everything.”

Mirono bowed and left, glad for the umpteenth time that at least someone in the royal family still cared about the boy.

**

Ninko stared at the dark ceiling, unblinking. He tried to think of the things that needed doing in the gardens the next day. He needed to trim the hedges. And plant some more bulbs in the flowerbeds surrounding the east wing. He felt his eyes drift closed.

(It was weird to see those kids being dragged in all chained up.)

(I mean, great of course, enemy of the Nation and all that. But still somehow _wrong._ )

Ninko’s eyes shot open again. He wondered if Yuna had something for treasonous thoughts.

“Are you awake?” he whispered at the ceiling.

“No,” came the reply.

He turned to see Zuko staring at the ceiling, similarly wide-eyed.

“I see that,” Ninko breathed. “Thinking about the prisoners?”

“Kind of.”

“What are they like?” Ninko turned over onto his side to face him.

Zuko continued to stare up at the ceiling. “They’re stupid. How does the most powerful bender in the world get captured by a fourteen year old?”

Ninko propped his head up on one hand and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s Azula. She’s---” he searched for the word. _Kind of a sociopath._ “Special.”

“I know,” Zuko said with a sigh.

“Are they nice?” Ninko pressed.

For some reason he needed to know. He needed them to be nasty pieces of work who deserved what they got.

“The Water Tribe people eat children,” Zuko deadpanned.

There it was. Vindication.

“I knew it!” Ninko whispered excitedly. “It’s true!”

“I was joking, Ninko,” Zuko carried on, “The guy was joking when he said he ate them. Called our education system _fine_ for teaching us that, but like, in a mean way.”

Ninko didn’t reply. They lay in silence for a while.

“They seem normal.” Zuko said finally. There was a thread of confusion in his voice, like it hadn’t been what he’d expected either. “I think they’re cold.”

“Yeah, it has been a little chilly recently,” said Ninko, wrapping his blanket over his shoulders.

“You don’t understand. The basement is _way_ colder than up in the palace. And they can’t even warm themselves up with their breath.”

Ninko held off on reminding him that at least half the staff here were not firebenders, just mere ordinary mortals that relied on fireplaces for heat.

Instead, he asked, “Are you on guard duty again tomorrow?”

“Yeah, every day.”

“Why don’t you bring them something warm to eat? That might help.”

Zuko rolled over, turning his back towards Ninko. “I’ll think about it,” he mumbled, “Go to sleep.”

Ninko flopped onto his back and continued to stare at the ceiling.


End file.
